Between Past and Present
by theicemenace
Summary: A young girl is missing. All the evidence points to her having been sent back in time. No one knows where or when she is, and it's up to the Black Widow and Hawkeye to find the girl and bring her back home to her family. Ever so slight crossover with the animated movie Brave.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

It was suggested by one of my readers that a list of the characters be included. I'm more than happy to oblige.

**Cast:**

Dr. Diane Rankin, geneticist, researcher

Unnamed doctor

Unnamed nurse

Sarah Barrow, surrogate

Baby girl

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Nick Fury

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Mary Bergman, Presidential library manager

Brad, server at Sweet Adeline's

Unnamed children

Maria Hill

Unnamed helicarrier tech

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 1**

**Five Years Ago**

**Newport News, Virginia**

"I'm sorry, Dr. Rankin. She's gone. TOD, 1427."

Diane Rankin turned away from the doctor and nurse assisting with the emergency C-section, stripping off her gloves, gown and mask. "Wait until after dark then dispose of the body."

No one questioned her orders, now or in the past because they all knew none of them would be working in this field of research without the private investors she brought in. If they balked or outright defied her directives, they wouldn't find themselves just out of a job. They'd be dead. Just like the surrogate, Sarah Barrow.

But the important thing was that the baby girl had survived. Secondary to that was the child's lineage, the DNA that went into creating her. The woman who had died giving birth was not genetically related to the child. And once Rankin had determined that the little girl was healthy, she would be adopted by a family of Rankin's choosing. A family who would raise her as their own while allowing tests to be performed on the child. Of course, they would be well compensated for their time and inconvenience. That's why she would be sent home with her assistant.

"Dr. Rankin?"

"What?"

Her assistant came up beside her, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "We need to talk about the baby. My wife has changed her mind."

"She signed the contract. You both did."

"I know, but she's not comfortable with some of the terms of that contract, and I have to agree with her." They reached her office and he touched her arm to stop her. "A child, even this one, isn't a bargaining chip. She should be with her parents. Her _real_ parents."

Turning to face him with her arms crossed, Rankin radiated annoyance and irritation. "It's only been a few weeks since the invasion made a mess of Manhattan. They're hardly in a position to take care of her at this point."

"They're only two of thousands of people who almost died during the attack. Having her to take care of might be just what they need to focus their energy on life again." He waited a few beats while Rankin thought it over. "Not only that, but it's the right thing to do for the _child_. She should be with them, not strangers. How else will you know if your theories are correct?"

Rankin opened her office door, the light coming on automatically. "I'll think about it. Monitor her vitals and call me if any problems develop."

"Of course."

Ten days later, Rankin admitted to herself that her assistant was right. Picking up the landline, she dialed a number she'd gotten from a friend who worked for the U.S. government. It was answered on the first ring. "My name is Dr. Diane Rankin. You don't know me, but I have something of yours…"

**Present**

Sitting in front of Fury's desk, Clint had been totally relaxed after a long and difficult mission to Lima. Now he sat up, back stiff, and just the tiniest sliver of fear with a large amount of annoyance added in for flavor into his expression. "Um…what?"

Fury, doing his best "gotcha" face, repeated his previous statement. "The new presidential library is opening next week. They've requested a member of the Avengers to make an appearance. The Council has already given their approval."

"Cap loves those kinds of things. Get _him_ to go." Fury let his smile widen just a fraction. More than enough to set Clint's radar off.

The Director of SHIELD make a slow head shake. "Captain Rogers is on a goodwill tour with the vice president. Agent Romanoff said you had expressed an interest in making personal appearances."

The archer began to fume inside. _She's just getting back at me for that prank at the fruit stand._ "I just have to smile and cut the ribbon, right?" More than a little relieved when Fury nodded, Clint got to his feet. "Hell, I can do that in my sleep. As long I get that vacation we talked about."

"Do this and you're off the grid for the next six weeks."

Fury nodded and Clint wasted no time in making himself scarce. Already making plans for his time off, he returned to his room, changed into workout clothes and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. His computer beeped to let him know two things. One, he forgot to turn it off, and two, he had an email. If it was from his partner, she'd be pissed if he didn't answer right away so he clicked on it.

But it wasn't from Natasha. The sender was the promotions manager with the library, Mary Bergman. In just a few short paragraphs Mary thanked him profusely for agreeing to…he couldn't believe it! She wanted him to host story time for a group of kids.

_What the hell?!_

He reread the email just to verify that he understood. Nope. Still read the same. The ribbon cutting ceremony would be performed by past presidents. After lunch, Hawkeye was expected to read a story to a group of kids. Shuddering, he slammed the laptop closed and went to confront the culprit.

As expected, Natasha was already in the gym warming up. To throw her off the scent, he tossed the towel on a chair, performed his warm up routine and met her in the center of the mat. They bowed and immediately went all out. The two assassins were evenly matched with regards to skill. However, Clint had an advantage when it came to upper body strength. He used that advantage to slam Natasha to the mat, flip her onto her stomach, dropping down with a knee on either side of her thighs, one arm in a wrist lock and his left forearm across the back of her neck immobilizing her.

She tapped out, but he didn't let go. They had to talk and this was the only sure way to make her listen. Leaning close, he growled, "I know what you did."

"What're you talking about?"

"Story time at the library. Sound familiar?"

Natasha's head dipped until her forehead touched the mat, her body shaking with laughter. "Serves you right for what you did to me in Lima. Now let me up."

She struggled, but he held on tight. "You're going with me."

Again she tried to get leverage, sagging to the mat at the futility of the gesture. "Not happening, Hawkeye. It's a solo op."

His mouth close to her ear, he dropped his tone down an octave. "If you don't, I'll post the pictures I took in Lima."

She went completely still, and he could feel the anger and embarrassment oozing out of her like sweat. "I told you to delete them!"

"Guess I forgot. Think I'll use them to create a Sexy Women of SHIELD calendar. I'll make a small fortune."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would."

Growling, Natasha again tried to get free, sagging when it proved futile. "That's _blackmail!_"

Clint thought a moment, grinning smugly. "Yes. Yes, it is. So what's it gonna be, Widow? Story time or, Reow! Sexy calendar?" he let the last hang in the air where she could choose. "Tick, tick, Nat."

His partner growled in surrender. "Fine. I'll do it."

Climbing to his feet, he waited for Natasha to roll onto her back and helped her stand. "Glad we could come to an understanding. How about we seal the deal with a kiss?" He made smooching noises in her direction. In return, Natasha called him a name in Russian that made him laugh. "And proud of it! We have to be there for the ribbon cutting then we're free until after lunch. Wanna go to that place you like?"

Taking a long drink of water, Natasha continued to glare, but now it had dimmed to wounding instead of killing. "Maybe."

"And to show my appreciation for being such a good sport, I'll buy."

"Yes, you will."

Clint and Natasha parted outside their quarters. He showered and changed, took his bow case from the closet and headed for the target range, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well done.

**Four Days Later**

**The Presidential Library**

**Washington, D.C.**

Standing at the front of the crowd behind the five former presidents, Natasha smiled as if she were thrilled to be there when in reality she was bored and annoyed. The wind wouldn't stop blowing her hair in her face and she hadn't brought a band to tie it back. Beside her, Hawkeye stood with his feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed and dark sunglasses in place. They'd both "suited up" for the occasion.

Sneaking a glance at him, she saw his chin dip toward his chest and knew that he was about to doze off standing up. Wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last, but they had a reputation to maintain. Laying her hand on his shoulder as if to draw his attention to something, she squeezed the pressure point. He winced. "What the…"

"Sh! There are children present. You _have_ to stay awake, Clint."

"I'm trying, but it's so freakin' _boring_. Can't we sneak out?"

Still with that same sweet smile, Natasha clenched her teeth. "Quit whining and at least pretend you're listening."

"Fine. How much longer?"

"Sounds like the last one is winding down." She squeezed his shoulder again, this time in comfort. "You can do it."

He huffed and made a good effort. Fifteen minutes later, the group broke up. Mary came by to remind them again to be back at least an hour before story time.

Scowling, Clint passed Natasha her duffle bag, stowed his bow and quiver then picked up his own bag. "If I catch something from one of the kids, _you_ have to nurse me back to health."

"Remind me. When was the last time you were sick?"

"Does having your mind taken over by a demi-god count?"

Natasha snorted. "No."

"I was nine. Billy Frazer and I got poison ivy from the woods out back of the orphanage." He scratched his right forearm and Natasha slapped his hand away. "I _itch_ just thinkin' about it."

"Then think about the cold beer waiting for you at the café."

Clint got a faraway look in his eyes and finally stopped digging his nails into his skin. "That helps. Thanks."

They walked for a while, each wrapped up in their own thoughts until the café came into sight. The agents put jackets on over their Avengers uniforms just to keep a low profile. Natasha didn't mind signing autographs, and if he was truthful, Clint didn't really mind either. They just wanted to have a quiet lunch so they'd be rested for the storytelling event.

Taking a seat on the patio far from the other patrons, Natasha relaxed in her chair. Clint did the same thing, sliding down and propping his feet in an empty chair while he perused the menu, peeking over the top when the server arrived. The young man wore a starched white shirt, black and green vest, black pants and a green apron. His smile was vacant and barely welcoming, his tome bored. "Welcome to Sweet Adeline's. My name is Brad and I'll be your server today. What would you like to drink?"

Smiling, Natasha set the menu on the edge of the table. "I'll have raspberry tea with lime and the lobster mac and cheese. Clint?"

"Whatever's on tap." He tossed the menu on top of the one abandoned by Natasha. "Burger with side salad, bleu cheese dressing."

"Very good." Brad picked up the menus and started away.

"Yo, Brad." Clint waited for the server to turn back. "Change that beer to iced tea. No sugar." Brad made the change to the order and walked away without acknowledging the request. He returned with their drinks, dropping straws on the table between them. Watching Brad walk away, Clint commented, "He's just a ray of sunshine, isn't he?"

Giving him a look of reprimand that he naturally ignored, Natasha squeezed the lime into her tea and stirred, watching the ice cubes spin around and around. "What do you think she's doing right now?"

A dark expression dropped over Clint's features. "Don't know."

"Think we'll find her soon?"

This time he added a shrug. "Don't know."

"Clint…"

Her partner's feet thumped to the ground as he pushed himself upright, and rested his arms on the table. "Nat, I _don't know_. Just let Selvig and his team do their job. When they find something, they'll call."

"But what if…" she stopped when he took her hand giving it a squeeze and smiling when she looked up at him.

"It'll be fine, Nat. We'll find her."

Brad hustled over to the table with their food and for the next few minutes, the partners dedicated themselves to fueling their bodies, both lost in thought. If anyone compared their expressions, they would swear Natasha and Clint were thinking about the same thing. And they would be right.

~~O~~

Outside the story room at the library, Clint paced three steps in one direction, turned and went the other way. Over and over until Natasha stuck her foot out and tripped him. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed glaring a hole in her forehead which she ignored as always. "How many?"

Natasha did a quick headcount. "About fifteen. Ages five to eight, maybe."

Just in time, Clint stopped himself from saying a word young kids shouldn't hear. "What am I supposed to read?"

Natasha held the book up so he could see the cover, a stylized drawing of the Eiffel Tower and a park. "They may want to update their reading list."

"_Madeline?_ What are they thinking?" He snatched the book from her, thumbing through the old pages, stopping to read the occasional line. "_Harriet, the Spy_ was _much_ better." Feeling he was being watched, Clint tilted his head up, blue-gray eyes meeting hazel ones, one eyebrow arched. "What?! My _mother_ read it to me when I was _six_. I was a precocious kid."

Pursing her lips, Natasha clasped her hands in front of her and turned to face the door as applause broke out. The door opened to let a dignified older man exit followed closely by several men and women dressed in dark suits watching everything, even each other, with suspicion. Clint was about to greet the former president, but thought better of it when Natasha gripped his arm and gave a minute shake of her head.

From inside the room, Mary's perky voice was saying, "_…Thank you, Mr. President. Wasn't that wonderful, kids?" _She waited out the cheering with a patient smile. "_Now, I know you're anxious to meet our next storyteller. Well, we have some good news. He's brought a special friend with him. Please welcome Hawkeye and Black Widow of the Avengers!_"

Again the kids erupted in cheers, getting to their feet and jumping around until Mary finally got them under control. As soon as they were quiet again, Clint winked at Natasha and flung the doors open. "Hi kids!"

Together they all chorused, "Hi, Hawkeye!"

Clint jogged to the front of the class, smiling and waving. "Ready to hear a story?"

"Yeah!"

Gripping the strap of his quiver, he waved Natasha to him. "Before we get started, I want all of you to meet the best friend a Hawkeye could have. Black Widow!"

The kids clapped and stared in wide-eyed wonder as Natasha strode confidently to his side, waving and smiling. "Okay. That's enough. Everyone sit down."

They did as he commanded though the room still hummed with excitement. Natasha handed him the book then circled around to the back and sat down. Immediately, a little girl went to her side, shyly asking a question. Natasha nodded, and lifted the girl onto her lap.

Clint eyed the wooden rocking chair with carefully disguised distaste. Moving the chair out of the way, he sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the book to the first page. Ever since lunch, he'd been restless, needing to be doing more than sitting or standing around. He also wanted Natasha to know that he shared her urgency on the subject they'd discussed. Sometimes he got the feeling that she thought him indifferent to their joint problem, but that was just a mask, a thin covering over his emotions that could be ruptured at any time. And when that happened…

Setting the book aside, Clint took in the faces of every child, wondering, not for the first time, what would've happened if his own childhood had been different. What sort of person would he be now? Not who he was, that's for sure.

"How about I tell you a story instead?" More cheers. "Cool. A long time ago, there were two children, Alex and Althea, who lived with their eccentric inventor father, Calvert and their very odd grandfather."

A boy raised his hand. "Mr. Hawkeye, what does 'centric mean?"

Clint grinned. "It means people think he's weird. Alex and Althea skipped school a lot and their favorite place to play was in a rusty old race car.

"One day, a mean old man told them he was gonna sell the car for scrap. Of course, Alex and Althea were devastated. They ran home to their father and begged him to buy the car, but he couldn't afford it.

"The next day, they skipped school again so they could play in the car before it was sold. While crossing the dirt road, they met a beautiful woman by the name of Delightful Delicious, the daughter of the famous candy maker, Major Delicious. She gave the kids a ride home so she could talk to their father about why they weren't in school…"

~~O~~

Clint continued the story using different voices for each of the characters and making the children laugh. Pursing her lips to keep from laughing, Natasha breathed in the scent of the little girl on her lap and wished for things she couldn't have, or once had and no longer did.

The girl scooted around until she could put an arm around Natasha's neck, her eyes never leaving Clint's face. Like the other children, she hung on his every word. He liked to say that performing for an audience was a part of his past, but she knew the truth. Every time they were out on an op together they played to an audience. It was a carefully choreographed dance in which they took turns leading, as in any good partnership. And then there was the dance they'd been doing around each other since the beginning.

Natasha knew that Clint had been attracted to her from the day they first locked eyes across a crowded dance floor because she'd felt it too. They hadn't spoken that night and it wouldn't have been necessary. They knew each other. Not all the little details, but everything they needed to know.

When they played a deeply affectionate couple, she wanted to make it real between them, but it never happened, and the reason was simple. Certainly having an intimate personal relationship would spill over into their work, bringing even more authenticity to their parts. However, at the start of their professional alliance, Natasha had worked hard to justify Coulson's and Fury's faith in her. To make certain it happened she refused to engage in any activity that could be construed as not giving her best efforts.

Oh, Clint was exceedingly charismatic, and if she were almost any other woman in the world, she would've fallen for his charm-and him-upon seeing that dimpled smile for the first time. He'd been persistent and she adamant that they not get involved. And after all of his attempts at seducing her failed, Clint had eventually stopped making overtures. To her at least. He wasn't a monk, and neither was she. Knowing Clint saw other women irritated her more than she would ever let on, though she could only guess at what Clint's feelings were knowing that she was doing the same.

"'…And Daddy and Delightful were married' exclaimed Althea, with her brother adding, 'and lived happily ever after.'"

"Now Delightful was surprised. After all, this was only her first date with Calvert. They had a picnic on the beach, and Calvert had driven a peculiar little car that made a funny sound. Looking at Calvert and trying not to smile, she asked him, 'Is that how the story ends?'"

As charming as he was, Clint could also be an ass. Lima was the most recent example on a very long list. She should still be angry with him, but then he goes and does _this_. What woman could resist a man who not only tells a story to a room full of kids, but acts it out too? Clint was also a very compelling raconteur. His voice was slightly raspy with a smoky, warm timbre that sounded like he'd just woken up after spending most of the night making slow, sweet love to the woman of his dreams.

"…Delightful and Calvert _were_ married, and they really did live happily ever after."

~~O~~

The kids crowded around Clint asking questions first about the amazing car then about the bow and wanting to see him use it. "Sorry kids. Not without your parents' permission. Tell you what. I'll talk to the manager and see if we can work something out. But you gotta promise me something." Their excitement rubbed off on Clint energizing his mind and body. "You'll be good. Do what your parents tell you to do, pay attention in school and, uh, don't eat too much candy and other junk."

He spied Mary standing off to the side with her hands clasped together in front of her. "Okay, kids, thank Hawkeye and Black Widow for coming."

Before Clint could get to his feet, the kids tackled him to the floor where he pretended to be scared. "Help! Someone save me! Aaaahhh!"

The more he called for help, the harder the kids laughed until Mary put a stop to it by sending them back to their parents. Mary stood beside Clint watching them babbling excitedly.

"We had fun today, Mary. Thanks for asking us."

"Thank _you_ for coming, Agent Barton. You really have a way with the little munchkins." She smiled in a way familiar to Clint. Mary made a show of displaying her bare left hand, hinting that she was single and wanted him to know. She also cast glances at Natasha, the kind that said "Go away." But Nat, the good friend that she was, just smiled sweetly and stayed put. "Well, I have to get going. Maybe we can persuade you to come back and do this again."

Taking a card from his pocket, Clint passed it to the young woman letting his fingers graze her palm. "Please call me Clint. Here's my email address. Send me a list of dates and we'll work something out."

"Good. Great. Thanks again."

Backing up, Clint turned and walked away with Natasha at his side. They stepped out into the setting sun, Natasha stopping him with a hand on his arm. "You don't know when to stop, do you? Mary is smitten."

His blue-gray eyes looked at her with feigned innocence greatly overplayed. "Why, Agent Romanoff, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. You do realize your story," she made air quotes, "is the plot to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?" He shrugged sheepishly as Natasha leaned against the wall, letting the silence stretch between them for a short while. "Think we'll ever find her?"

Clint pulled her into a one-armed hug, pressing a brief kiss to her temple. She laid her head on his shoulder as he stated with supreme confidence, "Absolutely."

They walked to the quinjet, took their seats and lifted into the air. Both were quiet on the short ride back to Quantico. Clint carried both duffle bags and his bow case. Drawing to a stop in front of her door, he handed over the lighter bag. "Gym at oh seven hundred?"

She nodded, gave him a sad smile and went into her room. Inside his own quarters, Clint tossed the duffle bag in the chair and set the bow case in the bottom of the closet before changing out of his uniform and taking a long hot shower.

With a towel wrapped around his waist and using another to rub his head, he sat on the side of the bed and brooded. He threw the towel through the open bathroom door not caring that it landed on the floor. Opening the bedside table, he took out a photograph and stared at it. He remembered every minute of that day. The warmth of the sun, the smell of corn dogs and cotton candy, the music of the carousel as it moved in a never ending circle, the riders going up and down and round and round.

When he was with the circus, there hadn't been time for going on rides. There had just been work, work and more work. Mucking out the animal pens and cages, putting up and striking the tents. Learning new routines for the tumbling act, tightrope and target practice. As difficult as the work had been, he had enjoyed it.

He also remembered his mentor's betrayal and the loneliness after his brother ran off. A low growl came from his throat as he dropped the photo back into the drawer and pushed it closed. Lying down, Clint laced his fingers behind his head and just stared at the ceiling.

~~O~~

As Fury's second, Agent Maria Hill kept her finger on the pulse of the boat, so to speak. Very little happened on board that she didn't know about, and what she _didn't_ know wasn't worth knowing. Usually. She had a feeling that today would be different.

"Agent Hill. There's something you should see." One of the junior agents motioned to his screen. "I've been monitoring news programs and…"

Standing behind him, hands clasped behind her back, she watched a replay of a short segment classified as "entertainment", but there was nothing amusing _or_ diverting about the video clip she was watching. "Get agents Romanoff and Barton up here _now._"

"Yes, ma'am."

~~O~~

Natasha and Clint were just leaving the gym when a call came over the PA for them to report immediately to the bridge. Exchanging what the **** glances, they quickened their pace and arrived in short order. Hill dispensed with small talk and dived right in. Natasha liked that about her.

Hill's penetrating gaze looked from one agent to the other. "What happened in D.C. yesterday?"

Again, the spies traded glances, this time of the confused variety. Clint shrugged, and Natasha answered for both of them. "We watched politicians bore everyone to tears, had lunch, Clint told a story to a room full of children, and we came back here. End of story."

"Why'd you ask?" was Clint's annoyed contribution.

Hill dragged a slender finger across the screen to her right. A window popped up and a short video began to play. Listening to the audio, turned low so it wouldn't disturb the techs, Natasha's anger grew until she could barely contain it and she sensed the same from Clint. Her voice tight, Natasha asked, "Has Fury or the Council see it yet?"

"Don't think so. The Director would've mentioned it."

Clint clenched his hands at his sides. "Good. We'll take care of this." He started away, calling over his shoulder, "You comin', Nat?"

Natasha and Hill communicated in a glance, Hill giving a single nod of approval. Turning on her heel, Natasha exited the bridge behind Clint. Twenty minutes later, they were in the air and headed back to D.C.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Lola Fame, gossip reporter for ZNN

Trevor Woo AKA celebritystalker1989

Agent Maria Hill

Dr. Eric Selvig, astrophysicist with SHIELD

Dr. Walter Hoffman, PsyD, SHIELD staff psychologist

Annabelle

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 2**

Natasha's PDA beeped to tell her the video along with the home address of the person who sold it to ZNN had been received. She fed the info into the navigation system which automatically notified Clint to change his heading.

"Play it again."

Huffing, Natasha shook her head. "It'll only make us angrier," she reminded him, but did as he requested.

A bleached blonde wearing too much make-up looked into the camera with that smug expression all purveyors of smut and gossip seemed to have. Her dress was at least one size too small and showed way too much cleavage for her to be considered a serious news reporter.

"…_This reporter recently came into possession of some rather provocative video…_"

The inset video grew to fill the entire screen, showing Clint and Natasha outside the presidential library. From the angle the video was shot, it looked as if they were having a very private moment in public turning an innocent gesture of affection between two friends into something sordid.

The voiceover continued, "_Hawkeye and the Black Widow of the Avengers were seen sharing an intensely passionate kiss outside the new presidential library just last night. Are there wedding bells in the future for two of the heroes of the Manhattan invasion? Stay tuned. And remember, if it's worth repeating, you heard it here first. This is Lola Fame reporting for ZNN._"

There was a period of silence then Clint remarked, "George Orwell was right. Just wrong about the year."

"Oh?'

"Yeah. It's _way_ past 1984."

Natasha didn't find the observation humorous. "When we confront the person who took that footage, don't kill him."

"Why not?"

"Because _I'm_ going to."

For the first time since Hill showed them the video, Clint grinned, and not in a nice way. "I've got a better idea."

"Do tell." His blue-gray eyes glinted with pure evil, an indication of what was to come. She hadn't heard his idea yet and already liked it.

~~O~~

The quinjet came to a perfect landing in a grassy area off the parking lot of an apartment complex. On his way out, Clint strapped on his thigh holster, made a quick check of his favorite handgun and shoved it into place. He reached around to verify that his K-bar was secure in its sheath and tucked his shirt in noticing that Natasha had done the same. The difference was in the Widow's Bites around her wrists that glowed with power just waiting to be unleashed. His partner looked up at him while adjusting her gloves. "Try not to scare the guy too much."

Clint grinned. "Says the woman who was chased through the boat by the Other Guy."

She gave him a mock glare and hit the control that lowered the ramp. When they emerged, a small crowd had gathered. They parted for the SHIELD agents then closed ranks behind them again, speculating on why they were here.

Taking the stairs to the second floor, Clint knocked on apartment 7B. The door was opened by an Asian man in his mid-twenties wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt proclaiming his unwavering devotion to the first amendment. He gave Clint only a cursory glance before letting his eyes take a leisurely trip down to Natasha's feet and back to her face with a smile that said he liked what he saw. "Yeah?"

As if they'd choreographed it, the partners removed their dark glasses at the same time, Clint speaking for them. "Hi. Remember us?"

Clint had to give the guy credit for not screaming like a little girl. He jumped at the sound of Natasha's unsympathetic voice. "We'd like a few words with you, Mr. celebritystalker1989, AKA Trevor Woo."

"Uh…" Trevor didn't resist when Clint planted a hand on the door and pushed. He and Natasha followed Trevor into the apartment, closed the door and engaged the deadbolt.

Thirty minutes later, the agents left Trevor's apartment, waited until the door had closed and the lock clicked before giving each other a fist bump for a job well done.

On the way back to the helicarrier, Natasha tuned into ZNN's news feed just in time for Lola Fame's newest report.

"…_To Hawkeye and the Black Widow, I send my sincerest regret for any embarrassment you may have suffered. The source that provided the video has been more than trustworthy in the past, and because of our long association, his most recent submission was not vetted as it should have been or we'd have found evidence that the figures in the video were not yourselves, but doubles paid to impersonate you._

"_If you can find it in your hearts to forgive me, I would like to request an exclusive interview with you at your earliest convenience. You can email me at gossipgirl znn. com. I look forward to hearing from you. This is Lola Fame, humbling reporting for ZNN News._"

A short ride later, Clint followed Natasha from the quinjet to find Hill waiting for them. She looked from one to the other. "Did you hide the body where it will never be found?"

Again, as if they'd planned it, Clint and Natasha simultaneously slipped on their sunglasses against the sun's glare. "We didn't lay a finger on him. By the way, he's decided to change his handle _and_ his profession."

Hill looked at Natasha for confirmation of Clint's claims. "Once we explained the situation, celebritystalker1989 decided to retract the story."

The agents walked around Hill and headed for home, ignoring the agent calling out, "I hope you wore gloves."

Waving a hand in the air, Clint acknowledged Hill without confirming or denying.

"Want me to ruin them financially? Just say the word and it's done."

Again Clint and Natasha were silent. But it was what she said next that brought both agents to a halt just shy of the entrance.

"Selvig called."

~~O~~

"…we were able to syphon off a small portion of the Tesseract before Thor returned it to Asgard. Mind you, it's not enough to open another portal to Thor's realm, but it will work for our purposes." Selvig continued to explain how and why he'd been able to open a portal into the past and why it took so long to do it again.

Natasha's eyes glazed over, and without seeing his face, she knew that Clint was ready to punch the scientist's lights out. He managed to stand still all through the astrophysicist's explanation, but his patience was coming to an end as was hers. Touching Clint on the arm, she smiled when he looked at her. Reluctantly, he nodded that she should continue. "Doctor, what does it all _mean?_"

"It means that soon we'll be able to create a stable gateway that will take you where you need to go."

"You've located…" she hesitated, not knowing how much the other scientists in the room knew about the situation, "…the target?"

Selvig tapped the touch screen while answering her query, "You can speak freely, Agent Romanoff. The members of my team are fully cognizant of the situation. And to answer your question, not yet, but we're close. I can _feel_ it."

Clint chose that moment to enter the conversation, "Sure it isn't the Tesseract telling you what you want to hear?"

A sheepish smile turned up the corners of Selvig's mouth. "No need to worry, Agent Barton. She's not talking to me, if that's what you think. It's a matter of finding the right place and time to focus her energy. Each time she's used, there will be a period of seven days for her to recharge enough to make another attempt."

Crossing his arms and standing with his feet shoulder width apart, Clint squinted in thought. "You had the full power of the Tesseract the first time. How are you gonna open the portal again with just a fraction?"

Chuckling, Selvig leaned one hip against the table so he could face the agents. "It actually takes less power than you think to open a portal into the past because you're only traveling in time, not space." Using his hands to illustrate, the scientist became filled with excitement. "When you travel back in time, spatially, you don't leave the planet. It's a much simpler set of calculations than if you wanted to spend a few days with Thor and his people."

"E equals MC squared?"

"Einstein's theory of relativity is the basis, yes. You see, if a body is stationary, it still has some internal or intrinsic energy, called its rest energy. Rest mass and rest energy are equivalent and remain proportional to one another. When the body is in motion, relative to an observer, its total energy is greater than its rest energy. The rest mass or rest energy remains an important quantity in this case because it remains the same regardless of this motion, even for the extreme speeds or gravity considered in special and general relativity; thus it's also called the invariant mass…"

Clint waved a hand. "I can see your lips moving, doc, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah. Will we be able to use that puppy to travel back in time? Yes or no?"

Blinking at Clint's tone though wasn't the first time he'd heard it, Selvig pressed his lips together in annoyance before uttering one word, "Yes."

Giving Selvig a smile of thanks, Natasha urged Clint toward the lift. "Thank you, doctor. We'll keep in touch, and you do the same."

As the lift carried them to the surface nearly twenty floors above, Natasha tapped her heel on the floor in a staccato rhythm that almost guaranteed to irritate Clint, but for once he didn't say a word. He just stood there with his arms crossed and chewing on his thumbnail.

The lift came to a stop and the door opened, but Natasha's partner just stood there lost in thought. "Clint?"

He looked up, seeming to be surprised that they'd arrived at their destination so quickly. "How much do you think she remembers?"

Natasha raised her hands and let them fall against her thighs. "I wish I knew. If you like, we can talk to one of staff shrinks. Hoffman's back from vacation. I'm sure he's forgotten all about that little misunderstanding the two of you had."

Finally leaving the lift, Clint fell into step with her, passing other agents and researchers who didn't even acknowledge their presence. "He said, and I quote, 'Agent Barton continues to project his guilt onto those around him as well as denying all culpability for the events that lead to the destruction of the SHIELD facility and the deaths of thirty-three agents.' First, I don't need a translator to tell me he thinks I helped Loki of my own free will. And second, that's _not_ what I said. It's just what he _heard_ from what I said."

She opened the quinjet's hatch and climbed aboard. "He doesn't live far."

Though she knew he didn't want to, Clint gave in to Natasha's coaxing tone, programming the coordinates into the navigation system. They were in the air a few minutes later. "I hope he has a big driveway."

~~O~~

Walter Hoffman, PsyD, put the finishing touches to an article he was writing for the APA, saved his work and began the shutdown of his laptop. The front door chimed and the fiftyish African-American man with graying hair went to answer it. Scowling, he said, "Get off my property, Agent Barton, before I call the police."

He started to close the door, but came up against an unmovable object: Barton's foot. "We need to speak to you."

Crossing his arms, Hoffman rocked back on his heels. "In additional to your impressive list of idiosyncrasies, you aren't a very good listener. Whatever you have to say, take it somewhere else. Now if you don't mind, I have _real_ work to do."

Romanoff added her voice. "Please, Dr. Hoffman. It's very important."

He looked from one face to the other. If Barton was willing to come to him for help, especially after their last encounter, he must be desperate. "Come in then. Have a seat in the living room. I'll make tea."

Standing over the kettle waiting for it to whistle, Hoffman wondered what could be so important as to make Barton seek him out. Obviously Romanoff was here to make sure Barton didn't get out of line again. Other than that, he couldn't envision a scenario that ended with the archer and he having a good reason to speak to one another.

He carried the tray out to the living room, and to his surprise, Barton jumped up to help. Never having seen this well-mannered and courteous side of the agent, Hoffman was intensely curious as to how this visit would play out. And hopefully, Romanoff would intervene if the situation turned violent.

Barton poured the first cup and passed it to Romanoff before serving his host, and lastly, himself. They all busied themselves with the preparation of their drinks, the only sounds breathing and the clink of spoons against the china cups.

Taking a sip and swallowing, Hoffman held the cup and saucer balanced on his knee. "After our last encounter, I never expected to see you again."

Very carefully, Barton set his cup on the table to his left before speaking. "We, Agent Romanoff and I, need your expert opinion about something."

"Go ahead."

Leaning forward slightly, Romanoff touched Barton on the arm, giving him an encouraging nod. "Go ahead, Clint. Ask him."

The archer returned her nod, taking a breath before looking him in the eyes. "If a child about five years old had lived with his or her parents the first couple of years then was adopted by another family and raised as their own, how much do you think that child would remember of the time with his or her parents?"

Hoffman laced his fingers together and rested them in his lap. "That would depend. If the child suffered abuse at the hands of the birth parents, he or she may retain more memories than a child who was not abused. Is that what this is about?"

Barton started to stand, stopped by Romanoff again. "No! What the hell kind of…"

"Clint! He's _just_ asking questions. Let him talk."

"Well, memories are formed when certain neurological connections are strengthened. Sight, sound, smell, vision, touch all combine to help encode information within the one hundred billion neurons in our brains.

"That being said, the child more than likely would have a sense of déjà vu if the circumstances of certain events are repeated later in life. And not just abuse or neglect. A child that was shown affection by a loving parent might remember things like the smell of her mother's perfume, the rough texture of her father's hands when he held her close, and the sensation of being carried up to bed after falling asleep in the car." Taking another sip of his tea, Hoffman let the agents digest the information.

Romanoff finished her tea and set the cup back on the tray. "What if the child's birth parents were demonstrative, but the adoptive parents abused her? If she were to be returned to her biological family, what are the chances that she would remember them?"

"Again, that's difficult to say." Barton huffed, and as a way to stave off the spate of obscenities the agent was about to hurl his way, Hoffman poured them each another cup of tea. "I'm sorry I can't give you more definitive answers. To do so, I would have to review her case file and interview the child."

Reluctantly it seemed both agents nodded acceptance of his vague explanations. Barton got to his feet. "Could I use your bathroom?"

"Of course." Leading the way down the center hall, Hoffman pushed open the door across from the stairs to show a half bath. Barton went inside and quietly closed the door.

~~O~~

Clint attended to business, flushed and washed before splashing water on his face. He leaned his hands on the edge of the sink. For three years he had been longing for the day when his when his life-and Natasha's-would get back to normal. And now that it was closer to becoming a reality, he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. Overjoyed was a given. Relieved, too. What about uncertainty, doubt and hesitation? Considering his past, and present, what scenario did he imagine would play out when it all became a reality?

He wanted to know Natasha's opinion, but it would look odd if they came into the bathroom together or stepped out onto the porch for privacy.

Using one of the hand towels, he dried his face and hands. Taking one very deep breath, he let it out and returned to the living room. Natasha was sipping tea, her pinky finger sticking up in the air. A perfectly normal thing to do, but it was the way in which she did it that made him think she and the doc had been talking about him.

"We're done here, Nat. Let's go."

Setting her cup on the tray, she got to her feet, tugging the edge of her top down over her hips. "Thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Hoffman, and your insight."

The doctor levered himself to his feet with a grunt. Natasha offered her hand to the psychologist and he took it. "Sorry I couldn't be more help."

Clint too shook Hoffman's hand. "If we have more questions…"

"Feel free to give me a call." The three of them stood there for a few awkward moments then the doctor exhaled loudly. "I know it's none of my business, the scenario you presented."

"But…?"

Hoffman looked down at the floor then pinned each with a pointed stare. "If there's even a slim possibility that the child you're speaking of is being abused, you are morally obligated to report it to Child Protective Services."

Shaking his head, Clint smiled humorlessly. "That's not gonna be easy. There's no CPS where she is."

"Is she in a foreign country? Has she been kidnapped?"

Again, Clint exchanged glances with Natasha with her picking up the thread. "We're not sure."

Hoffman adopted a posture Clint recognized from when he'd been in training for SHIELD. He and Natasha were about to be given a lecture on their legal and ethical responsibilities. Clint put his hand up to forestall that event. "Save it, doc." To his partner, he said, "We've overstayed our welcome. Let's go."

The spies had almost reached the foyer when Hoffman caught up to them. "You must understand that my concern is for the welfare of the girl. If she's in danger…"

"What makes you think we're talking about a girl?" Natasha demanded. She had managed to keep her cool the entire visit, but that was coming to an end.

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, Hoffman sighed as if the answer were obvious. "In the beginning, you referred to the child as he _or_ she then later you dropped the he. That's what we in the industry call a Freudian slip."

Again Natasha touched his hand, and Clint looked down into her hazel eyes. Seeing her so vulnerable hurt more than if she'd screamed obscenities at him. It helped him make a decision. "Fine. Her name is Annabelle. She was two years and three months old the last time we saw her."

"And when was that?"

Her voice soft, Natasha said, "Three years, five months and six days ago."

"And what is your relationship to Annabelle?"

In Hoffman's eyes, Clint could see that he already knew the answer, yet required verbal confirmation. He rubbed both hands over his face, letting out a long sigh and shaking his head.

"Clint, please. He can help us _and_ her."

His voice tight from the effort he was putting into controlling his anger, as if Hoffman weren't there, he said, "After what he said about me in his reports, you expect me to trust him with the biggest secret of my life? Of _our_ lives?"

The look in the psychologist eyes was more sympathetic than Clint ever expected. "Agent Barton-Clint, I really don't blame you for your lack of faith in me considering our contentious past association. But I'm asking you to do so now. To be able to help the child, I need to know the truth. Who is she?"

Unexpectedly, Natasha looked up at him with pleading eyes, her left hand making the ASL sign for please. After another moment of deliberation, Clint nodded once. "Annabelle is our daughter."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Commander Maria Hill

Dr. Eric Selvig, astrophysicist with SHIELD

Dr. Walter Hoffman, PsyD, SHIELD staff psychologist

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

Jean Carty, archaeology student

Robert "Bobby" Mitford, forensic anthropologist

Ellen Mitford, Bobby's wife

Audrey Biddle, forensic artist

Sidney Ackerman, forensic geneticist

Inspector Stevens, Scotland Yard

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 3**

Standing beside Clint, Natasha held her breath waiting for Hoffman's response. The psychologist flicked his eyes from Clint to her and back several times. Finally, he turned and walked toward the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, "I'll order dinner."

Very little was said by any of them until the Chinese food had been delivered and set out on Hoffman's dining room table. There was room enough for eight with the three of them only taking up one end. Though kept clean and dust free, this room was seldom used.

Photos on the walls, bookshelves and mantel told the story of Hoffman's life. The psychologist had once been married to an attractive blonde. Together they had three children, all girls. Two were married with children and one was still in college.

Clint and Hoffman came from the kitchen with plates, napkins and bottles of beer. Without being asked, Clint twisted the top off Natasha's and set it in front of her. He did the same for the doctor, and Natasha didn't miss the little glances Hoffman sneaked at her partner when he wasn't looking. Their previous relationship had been forced upon them and that made Clint push back in the only way he could.

Here and now, the doctor was seeing the Clint _she_ knew. Not the ruthless assassin, the charming spy or the man who could entertain a roomful of kids with a made up story. This was the real deal, the genuine article. If she had to make an educated guess, she would say that Hoffman was astonished and impressed at the same time.

All through the meal, they spoke in generalities, no one bringing up the reason for the dinner invitation. Clint even had Hoffman laughing when he recounted the last day of the Lima mission and prank he'd played on Natasha.

After putting the leftovers away, Natasha brought them each a second beer, figuring they could use it. Hoffman took a short sip then held the bottle between his hands rolling it back and forth. "Who would like to start?"

Clint had slumped in his chair. Using his feet, he pushed himself up until he could rest his elbows on the table, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Word of advice, doc. Be careful who you let have samples of your DNA."

It was almost comical that the doctor slanted his eyes at Natasha for confirmation. She just sipped her beer and looked at Clint.

"I'm not kidding. As SHIELD agents, our DNA is on file, and sometimes we're asked to donate for medical research. We can decline, but didn't see any reason to."

Crossing her knees, Natasha leaned back in her chair as well. "The now former head of SHIELD's medical research team asked agents to donate various body fluids for her genetic research."

As if they'd practiced, Clint picked up where she stopped. "Fury found out that Dr. Rankin was doing experiments on lab animals instead of using computer models for testing according to SHIELD policy and procedures. She was relieved of her position, prosecuted and sentenced to five years in prison. She got out in two for good behavior."

"We found out much later that she had a hidden agenda that even SHIELD couldn't have foreseen. She'd been stealing DNA samples with which to perform research into…I think she called it 'genetic splicing.' What she was trying to do was combine the DNA of two people in order to create, well, a child." Natasha didn't have to tell Clint it was his turn. He already knew.

"After many failures, the first successful experiment resulted in the birth of a child through a surrogate, a girl. She was full term and as healthy as any traditionally conceived child. However, genetically, she's mine and Nat's. Rankin called me to come to her lab in Chicago and to bring Natasha." Clint stopped to take a drink of beer, made a face and pushed it away.

Natasha brushed the bangs out of her eyes. It was time to get it cut, but she hadn't been able to muster the energy to do so and now her hair was down to the middle of her back. "When we arrived, Rankin escorted us to the nursery where we were presented with this tiny creature we knew absolutely nothing about and were totally unprepared for.

"Rankin ended up in prison again, though this time there would no time off, no matter how good her behavior."

Nodding, Clint popped his knuckles one at a time. "We named her Annabelle Rose, remodeled our apartments to add a second bedroom and learned to be parents."

~~O~~

Hoffman rested his arms on the table, fingers laced together. "You're not married?"

There it was again, that silent communication. He and Maggie had their own version of it throughout their marriage. All it took was the lift of an eyebrow or the twitch of a cheek for them to have an entire conversation without saying a word. It was one of the things he missed since her death, knowing someone so well that words were superfluous.

Barton exhaled loudly. "No. We've never even slept together. Not in the biblical sense."

"Pardon?"

Natasha shifted in her seat. "We've gone undercover as a married couple on a few occasions, but there are some boundaries we never cross."

What could he say to that except, "I see."

"Do you, doc? Really?"

Barton was getting angry again, and Hoffman knew as much as anyone what could happen if he lost his temper. He could feel Romanoff becoming upset as well. Spreading his hands, Hoffman said, "Then please enlighten me."

Romanoff heaved a silent sigh. "We have enemies, doctor. Lots of them. Everything about Annabelle had to be hidden, especially who her parents are."

The psychologist had the rhythm down now, automatically changing his focus from the woman back to Barton. Right on cue, he said, "A little over three years ago, we received word that one of our enemies had found out about her. Dr. Selvig came up with the idea to hide her in a place where no one would think to look."

"Where?"

Barton stood suddenly and began pacing. It was the action of a human male who had to _move_ or jump out of his skin. One hand went into his pants pocket and the other massaged the back of his neck telling Hoffman it was the place his tension settled. It was good to know that the man was average in one way at least.

"Not _where_, doc. _When_."

Doing his best to not react, Hoffman digested this new information and found it less than palatable. "You're joking."

"He's not," Romanoff said firmly. "Dr. Selvig created a way to briefly open a portal into the past. His idea was to send Annabelle far enough back that her existence would be obscured until we could deal with the threat." Romanoff's shoulders had stiffened to the point that they were causing her pain. One hand worked at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Barton saw and moved her hair out of the way so he could massage her shoulders. She closed her eyes, sighing in pleasure as he worked the muscles.

After just a few minutes, Romanoff patted his hand and smiled her thanks, taking up the narrative again. "We decided to send her through to the late seventies and have her placed in the same orphanage as Clint and his brother. However, the process was unstable."

"When the portal opened, Annabelle was pulled in at the wrong moment. Another agent volunteered to go with her, but was unable to follow. A strong power surge changed where other end of the portal opened." Barton stopped his pacing, both hands gripping the back of his chair. "Long story short, we have no idea where she ended up. Just that she was alone."

"_Had_ no idea," Romanoff stressed. "Recently, Dr. Selvig has made some amazing advances in the science and believes he can recreate the incident without the previous instability. Once we find out where and when she is, we'll go after her. That's why we're here, to find out what her emotional state might be after more than three years of living with another family."

"I don't mean to upset you, but someone must be the Devil's advocate. How do you know she wasn't killed while traveling through this passage or by some other means?"

The agents again looked at each other then back at him with Barton answering, "For just a few seconds, before the wormhole closed, we could see her moving around. She was crying, but okay. We just have to believe that she's still alive."

"Could you make out anything around her that would give a clue to her time and place?"

Covering a yawn, Romanoff pushed back from the table and stood. "Trees, grass, rocks, water. Then, it closed." She took three deep breaths before continuing. "And we never saw her again."

Barton stopped pacing to place a comforting hand on Romanoff's shoulder. Both were exhausted, mentally and physically. Hoffman pushed away from the table and stood. "I think that's enough for now. You can stay the night so you'll be refreshed in the morning."

"Not necessary. I'm good to fly, doc."

"All due respect, Agent Barton, no you're not. And as a SHIELD staff psychologist, I am hereby grounding you for the next eight hours. Now this can be just between the three of us, or I can make it official. Your choice." Reluctantly, the agents nodded in agreement. "My daughters keep clothes in the guest room, Agent Romanoff, and I can provide something for you to sleep in, Agent Barton."

~~O~~

Clint followed Natasha and Hoffman to the second floor, down the hall and into the guest room. The doctor's smile was apologetic. "I'm afraid there's only one bed. Agent Romanoff, you'll find pajamas in the dresser. There are clean towels in the bathroom down the hall."

Hoffman left them alone. Natasha opened the dresser and took out a frilly pink nightgown, rolling her eyes. It was so not her usual style. She gave him a wry grin and went to change. Hoffman came back a few minutes later with a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. "Rest well, Agent Barton."

Just as Hoffman reached the door, Clint called out to him, "Hey, doc. Thanks. For everything." Clint couldn't believe he was going to say this next part, but he pushed on. "When she's back, would you…"

Surprisingly, Hoffman smiled. "Of course. Good night."

Standing in the middle of the bedroom holding the clothes in one hand, Clint examined his emotional state at the moment. He and his partner had been on an emotional rollercoaster for the better part of the day, and having each other to lean on helped. But now, he needed to be alone for a while, and sensed the same from Natasha. Taking a pillow from the bed, he yanked the bedspread free and carried them down to the living room to sleep on the sofa.

When Hoffman got up the next morning, the guest room bed had been made and the agents were gone. There was fresh coffee in the kitchen and a note thanking him for his hospitality.

~~O~~

"Sonofa*****!" Clint slammed his hands on the table making the items jump. Used to The Hawk's volatile behavior, Selvig barely twitched as he watched Barton pace angrily back and forth. "You _said_ you were close! How can you _not_ know where she is, Selvig?"

As if explaining to a child, Selvig repeated his previous statement. "The readings from that day are inconclusive, and the video is almost useless because there are no identifiable landmarks. The good news is, according a botanist friend of mine, one of the plants is a variety of thistle that's now extinct."

Natasha crossed her arms and tried to quell the upsurge of hope and expectation that she didn't want to be dashed again. "When did it become extinct?"

"Approximately the mid-1700s. This particular thistle only grew in the area now designated as Trossachs National Park near Loch Lomond in Scotland, and was most abundant in the late 1600s."

That bit of news calmed Clint somewhat, and he was able to converse intelligently again. "Is there any way narrow it down? When we go back for her, I'd like to not have to walk all over the park to find her. I just wanna get in and get out."

"We _are_ working on it, Agent Barton. Day and night. My staff hasn't left the compound in weeks."

"What about…"

Stepping between the two men, Natasha nodded once. "Thank you, doctor. Agent Barton and I appreciate the efforts of you and your team. Let us know if you find anything more."

"I will." Selvig nodded and returned to his computer already having dismissed their presence.

On the ride to the surface, Clint kept snapping his fingers and walking in circles. "We should go there. To Scotland. Do a little recon."

"What do you expect to find?"

"I heard about an archaeology dig that found the remains of an old village. We should check it out."

Natasha blinked. That was actually a good idea. A great one, in fact. "Okay. I'll make the call." Going into the rear compartment, she set up a video session with Hill.

Now that Clint had a plan, he became energized, invigorated. The quinjet lifted off, banked around and shot up into the sky headed for Scotland just as Hill came on the line. "_Agent Romanoff. How was your visit with Dr. Selvig?_"

"Uninspiring, though he is optimistic." Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to the screen. "At the moment, we're following a lead and would like you to grease the wheels."

On the monitor, Hill's expression barely changed. "_How reliable is this lead?_"

"There's evidence to suggest that the…" the Russian paused. Not everyone at SHIELD was privy to the existence of Annabelle or her parentage, "…subject may have lived in Scotland for a while."

Hill's stern features softened fractionally. "_I'll take care of it. Good luck._" A voice off screen called her name. "_Gotta go. Keep me in the loop._"

Glancing over her shoulder, Natasha took out her personal PDA, entered the password and accessed the gallery, scrolling until she came to a specific photo. It had been taken on a sunny afternoon in the park. On the left, Natasha squatted, her hands out and an ecstatic smile on her face. To the right Clint was on one knee, his face showing the same blissful smile as his friend. Between them, Annabelle was taking her first steps.

Flicking the screen with her finger, she scrolled to the next one. In it Natasha was lying on the double bed in her room with the same little girl a few months older cuddled against her stomach. Both were asleep. At first, she'd been annoyed with Clint for taking it, quickly changing her tune when she remembered what had happened at dinner that night.

For nearly a month, their daughter had been saying, "Dada" to Clint's glee and _her_ consternation. But that night, for the first time, Annabelle had called her "Mama." The spy had been so touched she cried and hugged the child to her.

Eventually, Natasha was able to get a similar photo of Clint and Annabelle where Clint was on the sofa, the girl laying on his stomach and both asleep. Clint had one hand protectively on her back. Even in his sleep, protecting the child came foremost in his mind.

The sound of the ship's engine changed telling her that Clint had just engaged autopilot and would be making an appearance. She quickly powered down the PDA and shoved it in her back pocket at the sound of Clint releasing his harness.

Leaning on the edge of the cockpit, he aimed a thumb in the general direction of the refrigeration unit. "I'm getting water. Want something?"

Smiling as if everything was coming up roses, Natasha nodded. He turned away, and she flexed her hands, wanting so much to hold Annabelle again she literally ached. A snap-hiss reached her just before Clint handed her a bottle. She unscrewed the loosened top and took a long drink. From the corner of her eye she saw him doing the same, his blue-gray eyes staring at a point about six inches in front of his face. As always, she knew what he was thinking about.

~~O~~

Honoria Higgins, archaeologist, crouched beside a row of holes the size and shape of graves. The markers had long since turned to dust as had the wooden coffins. All that was left of the deceased were their bones and, in a few cases, pieces of jewelry made from gold, silver and other metals.

One by one, she carefully removed the skeletal remains, packing them for the flight to the lab in London. There, forensic anthropologist Robert Mitford and his colleague, Brigit Ackerman, a geneticist, would examine those remains to determine year and cause of death. They would also do a DNA comparison in an attempt to locate descendants.

Her cell phone rang and she removed her gloves to pull it from her pocket. "Higgins…hello, Bobby…work is going well. And you? Good…Yes, of course. I was just about to take a break…no worries. These folks have been dead for some time. I'm sure they won't mind…Silly man!"

Grunting as she got to her feet, Honoria waved to one of her students, Simon Jersey, indicating that she would be in her tent. Once inside, the relative coolness was a welcome relief. Going to a cooler, she took out a bottle of water, cracked the top and took a long drink on her way to the makeshift desk in the corner. "I'm booting up now…"

She reached for a protein bar to munch on while she and Bobby chatted. She accessed the video chat application, setting it to full screen as she disconnected the phone. Bobby's smiling face appeared only now the smile held just a touch of excitement tempered with confusion and fear. That couldn't be right. What had he to be afraid of? He sagged in relief when the screen cleared. "We just finished DNA mapping on the remains from the crypt."

"You didn't contact me just to brag about the efficiency of your staff."

He smiled showing white teeth and crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Of course not. I have news about the bodies that were grouped together I believe it was in the north corner of the site."

"We theorized that they were a family group."

Bobby smiled ruefully. "And you were correct, in a manner of speaking." He consulted pages in a folder. "The age ranges were from three years up to mid-sixties with one hearty individual who lived to the ripe old age of seventy-five. We've determined that the body that was interred the longest was in Family Alpha, approximate age sixty-five. Old for that time. In Family Beta, the longest interred was a female, age seventy-five."

"Go on."

"The DNA for the larger group shows that they were related, however, though they were all buried together as one family, there are seven that share _no_ genetic markers with them. The DNA from the two oldest in the second group, a male and a female, shows that they are the parents and grandparents of the younger ones. Audrey's doing reconstructions on them now."

Honoria's eyes narrowed as she peered into the background where a very pretty woman in her thirties watched a three dimensional image taking shape under her watchful gaze. Occasionally, she would halt the process to make minute adjustments then continue. "It could be a case of two families sharing expenses or even a commune that only had a few members."

Chuckling, Bobby leaned his elbow on the desk. "Some of the reconstructions are done, but I'd like to wait until both family units are completed before sending them just so you don't have any preconceived ideas about who belongs with whom."

A young man wearing a badge declaring that he was an intern rushed to Bobby's side, whispering urgently and handing him a sealed plastic bag with piece of metal about six inches long. Bobby gave him a classic _you've got to be kidding!_ Stare, his jaw dropping open. He nodded and the young man scurried away. As if he'd forgotten she was there, Bobby examined the objects.

"Bobby?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry." The anthropologist adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "One of my interns found a titanium pin in the right fibula of the oldest male of Beta. There's a serial number on it. He looked it up and found that it was manufactured in 2005. This particular piece was part of a lot that was purchased from Swann-Morgan Orthopedic Supply Company based in Dallas, Texas. By the United States government."

Honoria couldn't help staring at her friend as if he were a madman. "You _can't_ be serious."

Shaking his head and grinning, Bobby said, "What is it the Americans say? As a heart attack. I'll have it scanned so you can see for yourself."

"That area could've been used a body dump. Once the reconstructions are done, put them all through facial recognition and the international DNA databases to be safe."

A young woman stuck her head through the open tent flap. "Dr. Higgins?"

"Coming, Jean." Facing the monitor again, Honoria smiled apologetically. "I have to go. I'd like to see the pin first-hand. A road trip might be in my future."

"Splendid. Ellen would love if you'd come to dinner at least once while you're about."

Scooting her chair back, Honoria got to her feet, leaning over to peer into the webcam. "Count on it. We'll do a bit of shopping as well. Have I told you lately how happy I am that my two best friends fell in love and got married?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "It's been ages. Weeks, months even. See you in a few days, love."

The screen went dark, and the archaeologist returned to digging in the dirt with her thoughts whirling. How could a piece of modern medical equipment have found its way into a gravesite from the 1700s? Was the area also being used as a dump for a serial killer or did a woman and her lover kill and bury the husband to get rid of him so she could inherit his fortune?

Shaking her head at the fanciful notions, Honoria climbed up the hill, going to Simon's side to see how he'd been faring while she was gone.

~~O~~

Clint gripped the jeep's steering wheel tightly in both hands as it bounced and jostled over the ruts in the path that barely qualified as a road. He was pissed off and annoyed, but mostly pissed off. He'd wanted to fly over Loch Lomond and land on the shore, but the RAF refused to allow it on the orders of the old battleax in charge of the dig site.

In fact, he was so pissed that he refused all of Natasha's attempts at starting a conversation. He turned to look at his partner when she flicked the radio on, huffed then faced forward again. A few minutes later a longsuffering sigh whooshed out of him. "Can't you at least put on some classic rock instead of that longhair stuff?"

Natasha crossed her arms and returned his glare. "I happen to _like_ Wagner."

Just to tweak her, he reached over and hit the scan button, stopping when he came to a station playing Elton John's _Crocodile Rock_. He hummed with the intro and because he knew it annoyed Natasha, he began singing in a high-pitched nasally voice, changing Suzie to Tasha.

The song ended just as they pulled into camp. Men and women craned their necks trying to see who had invaded their domain.

Clint climbed out and walked to the front of the Jeep, Natasha coming to his side. As one, they headed for the group working at the top of the hill. The ground had been marked off into sections, each with one or two digging and scraping bones and artifacts free of dirt while others photographed the scene from different angles.

No one responded to the agents' presence and Natasha, not used to being ignored, especially by men said, "Excuse me. We'd like to speak to Dr. Higgins, please."

Several people pointed to the right just as a woman in her forties with long blonde hair and a lean figure got to her feet. She pulled off her gloves while sizing them up. Stopping just out of arms reach, she said, "I'm Dr. Higgins. How can I help you?"

~~O~~

They hadn't discussed if they would treat this like an op or go with the truth, but Natasha wasn't surprised when Clint smiled broadly, stepped forward and extended his hand. "Hi. Dominic Trask. My lovely wife, Natalie Rushman. We're taking a tour through Europe and Asia, and heard about your dig."

Going along with him, Natasha also smiled. "Some of my ancestors came from this area. We were hoping you let us join you for a few days."

Seeing that Higgins was wary of the request, she nudged Clint. "We would make it worth your while."

Higgins' eyes looked from Clint to Natasha twice before she responded. "Oh? And how might you do that?"

Clint was the only man Natasha had ever met who could swagger standing still. "We're insanely rich, and I'd be willing to donate enough to keep you in brushes, shovels and ground penetrating radar for say the next two years."

Behind Higgins, the few that had followed her out of curiosity began whispering excitedly behind their hands. Taking a step forward, Natasha put on her most earnest smile. "We also brought food, water, beer and wine."

Dropping his arm around her shoulders, Clint added, "We won't get in the way." Grinning, he took a sheet of paper from his back pocket. "And if that doesn't get your motor runnin', we also have approval from the dean of the university. He and my dad are old friends."

Natasha saw the moment Higgins made the decision, stopping short of sagging in relief, when Higgins extended her hand. "Welcome to Loch Lomond. Simon will show you where to set up your tent then you can change."

"Change?"

Higgins started to turn away, looking over her shoulder at Clint's question. "We can always use another pair of hands. You want to see what we do then you can get down in the dirt with us."

Natasha didn't need to consult her partner because she already knew the answer. "We'd be delighted."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Maria Hill

Dr. Eric Selvig, astrophysicist with SHIELD

Dr. Walter Hoffman, SHIELD staff psychologist

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

Jean Carty, archaeology student

Robert "Bobby" Mitford, forensic anthropologist

Ellen Mitford, Bobby's wife

Audrey Biddle, forensic artist

Sidney Ackerman, forensic geneticist

Inspector Stevens, Scotland Yard

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 4**

Calmly, efficiently and with minimal talk, Clint and Natasha put up their tent slightly removed from the main group. Several of the workers offered to help, making short work of it.

To Simon, Clint said, "Those boxes there are dinner. We didn't know what to bring so it's make your own sandwiches."

Simon grinned. "Mr. Trask, this group will eat anything that will sit still long enough."

The men laughed together as Natasha joined them. "We're ready to work, Dr. Abernathy. Where do you want us?"

Motioning for Clint and Natasha to follow, he led them to an area that was in the process of being cleared. "Please, call me Simon. The tools are in there…" he pointed to a prefabricated shed with the door blocked open. "Using this rock and that tree as a guide, we need to clear a ten by ten meter square twelve centimeters deep. If you need anything, come find me or Jean. We've had record breaking highs this summer so be sure to hydrate. Nightfall is close to ten with sunrise around half past four-ish. Dinner is usually around nine-ish."

"Great!" Clint enthused as he picked up a shovel and started digging up a bush that seemed determined to shove its leaves in his face at every opportunity. "Sonofa…"

"Ssss!"

He stood up and tossed the now free bush off to one side without comment. Natasha was right about watching his language. Not that he cared what the academics thought about him as long as it helped find Annabelle, but he didn't need an argument with is partner while they were undercover. When they got into one of their legendary shouting matches, there was no telling what they might say or in what language they might say it. This group of archaeologists probably spoke most of the world's languages or some derivative thereof and his use of languages other than the most common would draw unwanted attention to them.

Since they became parents, their fights had become fewer and less volatile though their workouts were as rough as ever. He smile, remembering their first sparring session and the names she'd called him not realizing that he spoke Russian. That was more than ten years ago though it seemed as if it had happened within the last week. _It did_, he reminded himself.

Recalling their shared past reminded Clint of the one and only time they let the male nanny-he called himself a manny-drop Annabelle off at the SHIELD compound. Neither had seen Grady holding their daughter up so she could see Mommy and Daddy "playing." Not until Natasha performed one of her signature moves.

They'd been rolling around on the floor each trying to get leverage over the other when Clint broke free, both rolling in opposite directions. Natasha had recovered first, and just as he got to his feet, she ran at him, jumping up to wrap both legs around his neck. She twisted and he'd gone flying, rolling to a stop just at the edge of the mat.

He got into a crouch, readying himself to tackle her to the floor again when Annabelle's cries broke through their intense concentration. Natasha too had been in a crouch, hands barely touching the mat, ready to spring into action. Her head had turned so sharply at hearing her daughter cry that Clint had been surprised it hadn't cracked.

Naturally, they couldn't continue so they took her from Grady, assuring her with gentle words and hugs that Mommy and Daddy were just fine, sweetheart, and no, they weren't really mad at each other. She finally stopped crying when Clint made faces and spoke in silly voices, causing several junior agents to snicker.

"Dominic, help me move this rock."

Without realizing it, Clint had been standing with one hand holding the shovel upright and staring into space. "Sure."

The rock wasn't so big or heavy that Natasha needed help. It was a way for them to talk privately without it being obvious. "Distract them at dinner and I'll hack the computer in Higgins' tent."

"How the hell do I distract sixteen people?" Together they rolled the rock over next to the pile already accumulated.

"See if someone has a guitar. Crank up the radio and get everyone dancing. Recite a poem. Tell stories about the circus. Do tricks. Just keep them busy for at least twenty minutes."

Clint lifted one eyebrow, grinning impishly. "Maybe I'll tell them about Lima."

Her eyes going very wide, anger darkening the light hazel color to a darker green, Natasha hissed, "You do and our child will be fatherless!"

"Okay, okay. I'll think of something. Twenty minutes enough?"

Mollified, she brushed at the bangs sticking to her forehead. "More than. Their security can't be that strict. They're archaeologists, anthropologists and paleontologists. Probably won't even need Stark's gadget."

"I don't know one 'ologist' from the other, Nat. Get in. Get out. Don't get caught."

Her lips pursed, fighting a smile. "I only get caught when I want to."

Clint didn't fight a smile. "Get back to work." Using ASL, she called him a name. "Love you to, Nat."

~~O~~

The sun's yellow rays flowed over the landscape looking just like a tub of butter melting in the heat of a Georgia summer and reminding Honoria of the months she spent there as an undergrad. Taking a bottle of water from the cooler, she cracked the top and drank down half. She was on the fence on whether or not they should call it quits for the night and retire to the coolness of their tents or get as much done as possible before the weekend. Plans had already been made for her to travel to London to view Bobby's work firsthand so she was surprised then he phone in her back pocket rang to the tune of _The Skeleton Dance_. Apropos for her best mate, Bobby, a forensic anthropologist. "Didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"_Audrey's keen on the project so she worked through the night._"

Honoria sat down on a rock, elbow planted in her thigh. "Brilliant! Thank her for me."

"_Absolutely. I'm transmitting now. Oh, and as a bonus, Audrey, the smashing artist that she is, will be doing family portraits for each group to show off the resemblances and how physical traits are passed down from generation to generation._"

Shaking her head, Honoria grinned. "That girl is a treasure. Wherever did you find her?"

"_She__ found __me__. Accosted me in the car park every day until I agreed to give her a position with the institute. She was rather thin at the time so it may have been the last resort of a literally starving artist. It worked._"

"Yes, but not until your wife saw samples of her work and told you to hire the girl." Jean waved to her, and she waved back. "I've got to ring off, Bobby. After supper, I'll have a peek at the reconstructions."

Her friend's chuckle came through the phone as she hit the END key. With a sigh, she stood and stretched before heading toward her teaching assistant. Jean Carty grinned. "There you are! We've found something odd."

Honoria followed Jean over to the site where Alpha and Beta families were found. Another student was on his knees and using a brush to sweep away the loose dirt. The curved shape of a bow showed in the packed earth. She reached out to touch it, her fingers tracing the shape, stopping at the arrow rest, or rather where it would have been. Most of it had long ago turned to dust with the bowstring. Lingering over the area, she became bewildered. "This feels like metal."

"We thought so too."

"What're these? They look like hinges. As if it could be collapsed. That technology didn't exist that far back." Groaning, Honoria slapped her knees and stood. "Well, that settles it. I am too tired to think about this anymore today. We're closing down early. Go on and get washed up. I'll let our guests in on the change of schedule. They've brought dinner as a bribe as additional incentive to let them stay."

Her team headed off while Honoria went to check on Trask and Rushman. They were moving a rock and talking quietly together. When she was close enough, she heard Trask tell his wife that he loved her. _How sweet!_ "Oy, Trask! We're shutting down early, if your offer of dinner is still good."

Trask brushed dirt from his hands. "It is. Where can we get cleaned up?"

Pointing with her chin beyond a group of trees behind the tents, Honoria said, "Over there. Small brick buildings. Gents on the left, ladies on the right."

She watched the couple walk away, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. Seeing the couple being affectionate made her miss her ex-husband. That is until she remembered catching him with a coffee shop barista when she returned early from a dig.

Inside her tent, she powered up the computer, gathering clean clothes and tossing them on the foot of her cot while she waited. A bleep let her know that Bobby's promised download had arrived. Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the file, tabbing through the reconstructions Audrey had created. The girl was amazing in the detail of the faces. She could almost see them moving about, talking, laughing, playing, fighting…dying. She was so deep into her daydream, she almost missed it. Tabbing back several frames, she tilted her head to the side in consternation because two of faces looked eerily familiar.

Accessing her email, Honoria sent a query to Inspector Stevens, her contact at Scotland Yard, asking him to do her a favor. He replied immediately, stating he would have it for her before morning. Resigned to waiting, she took her clothes and walked over to the showers. Most of the others were at the mirrors combing their wet hair. One or two used blow dryers, but most let their hair dry on its own.

When Honoria had finished her shower and dressed, she walked around to the mirrors. Rushman was combing her hair before tying it back in a ponytail. She must've been staring, because the other woman peered at her strangely. "Something wrong, Dr. Higgins?"

"No, of course not." How to explain her odd behavior? "It's just that you remind me of someone I once knew. I haven't seen her in more than a decade. Not even sure where she is now."

Rushman shrugged, leaning forward to apply lip gloss. "I just have one of those faces. Do you mind if we get dinner started without you?"

"Not at all. I won't be long."

Rushman tossed the tube of gloss into the side pocket of her bag, hooked the long strap over her shoulder and was gone. Now that she was alone, Honoria reached into the bottom of the bag containing her clothes and towel, her hand closing around a compact video camera. Checking the battery, she saw that it was fully charged. Her plan was to get footage of their guests to send to Inspector Stevens to aide in his investigation.

As she neared the campsite, she heard laughter, talking and music all melding together making her miss the city. Funny, but when she was in the city, she missed the quiet of the woods and forests.

Off the left, tables had been set up with a wide choice of meats, cheeses, breads, condiments and side dishes. Wine, beer, water and fizzy drinks were at the far end. Taking two slices of rye bread, Honoria built herself a truly awesome roast beef sandwich, adding a small spoonful each of pasta salad and baked beans, and a chocolate chip cookie for dessert.

One of the students had brought out his guitar. He played a few songs then Trask asked if he could try it out. After strumming a few chords to get the feel, he swung into a rousing rendition of _One Toke Over the Line_ by Brewer and Shipley that had the entire group clapping along.

No matter who he turned out to be, there was no denying that the man had charisma to spare, and he proved it by swinging into _Help!_ She was amazed because his voice was brilliant!

Balancing the plate in her lap, the archaeologist took out the camera, set it on the rock beside her aimed at Trask. His wife was sitting beside him so it was a simple matter to get both of them in the shot. Rushman didn't sing, but she did sway with the beat and clap.

Trask finished his fourth song, but when he tried to stop, the group clamored for more, and soon, Honoria was into it as much as they. Deciding to indulge in a glass of wine, she returned to her seat with a cup of chardonnay that had a mildly cheeky flavor to it. Nothing to write home about, but good. She never noticed Rushman leave them.

~~O~~

_Create a distraction_, Natasha said. In Clint's mind, his partner had the easier job of hacking the computer. He finished another song, and though his audience begged for more, he told them he needed a short break.

From the Jeep, he brought a portable stereo system, set it up and tuned it to a rock station. Natasha hadn't come back yet, so to continue the distraction, he created a plan in his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Higgins shut off the video camera and stow it in her bag. He wasn't so naïve to think she was planning on posting his performances on You Tube. No, she was having Natasha and he checked out. Good thing they'd set up these particular identities long ago. "Okay folks. One more then I really am taking a break."

Because it had special meaning since Annabelle had been gone, he played _Ain't no Sunshine_ by Bill Withers. The applause died out as he carried the guitar back to its owner.

Going to the coolers, he took out a beer, a popular local brew, and drank down half of it while waiting for his next cue. It came a few moments later. Setting the bottle aside, Clint crossed the clearing, stopping in front of Higgins, bowing slightly. "May I have this dance, Dr. Higgins?"

Higgins looked startled for a moment then smiled. "Okay."

Holding her in the classic slow dance pose, he moved them around in the open space circling the fire pit, several couples already doing the same. _Bridge over Troubled Water_ wasn't one of his favorites, but Higgins seemed to like it. As it ended, Natasha slipped back into her previous seat, tilting her head once.

Clint leaned Higgins back in a shallow dip then walked with her back to her seat. She gave him a smile and he returned the gesture then went to sit next to Natasha, leaning close as if they were having an intimate conversation. "Find anything?"

"We'll talk about it later." Putting her mouth close to his ear, she added, "Cheating on me with the hot archaeologist?"

Lifting his left hand, he brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead and tucked them behind her ear. "Never. You're the only one for me."

"Bull." The humor vanished from her voice though she still smiled. "I wish Annabelle were here."

"Me too." He sighed. They'd had this same conversation nearly every day. "Never thought I'd have a rug rat, but now I can't imagine life without her."

Natasha didn't respond except to move back from him to take a drink. Clint did the same, turning his attention to the guitar player softly strumming a song Clint hadn't heard before. It was slow and relaxed, making him feel drowsy. Or maybe it was the wine. Could be the location. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city. No disruptions to the ebb and flow around him. Fighting a yawn, Clint finished the last of his beer. To Natasha, he said, "I'm gonna turn in."

"Stay on your side of the bed, Hawkeye."

"Yeah, right." Inside the tent, Clint changed into a pair of baggy shorts and a tank shirt, falling into bed with a groan.

~~O~~

One of Higgins' assistants, Jean, came over to Natasha. "Just wanted you to know. Saturdays, we usually have a lie in and get a late start. Sunday, we drive into town to shop. Everyone's on their own for breakfast except for tea, or coffee if you prefer. We have both."

"We brought our own. Didn't want to take your supplies."

"Brilliant. In the morning then." Jean walked to her tent, closing the flap and a moment later the light went out.

Natasha, though tired from the work they'd done, didn't feel like sleeping yet. She thought about going for a walk, but that would look odd with her husband asleep in their tent. After making a stop at the facilities, she padded to the tent and let herself in. Clint was on his stomach, snoring lightly, and one arm hanging off the side. Knowing better than to try shaking him, Natasha took off her sneakers and balanced on her right foot, using the left to tap the back of his calf. She had to hold in a laugh when he came awake so fast that he rolled off the bed onto the floor, looking around like he didn't know where he was and saying, "What the ****!"

Taking out an iPad, Natasha typed, _Higgins sent inq Sctlnd Yd. Shd rec resp tmrrw._

He took the pad and added his response, _Right. NEthng else?_

Back to Natasha. _She hs recnstrcts of bodies._ Narrowing a puzzled glance at her, the one that said "big fat hairy deal", he lifted one eyebrow. _2 lk like us._

Clint's mouth made a silent "Huh?"

She exhaled with annoyance. _*shrug* Will snd info 2 Selvig._

The swish of someone walking through the grass interrupted their debriefing. To solidify their supposed relationship, Clint began bouncing on the cot making it creak. Natasha rolled her eyes and made panting sounds. He responded by doing the same. They held in their laughter when the footsteps made a hasty retreat. Hopefully, this would keep anyone from nosing around.

Clint lay back down on that same side forcing her to go around. She lay down next to him, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. Rolling onto her side, she cuddled against him. His arm went around her, and together, they fell asleep.

~~O~~

Morning came, and with it the potential for torrential storms that could flood the dig site. Groaning, Honoria went to the tent opening. "Simon! Jean!"

Her assistants trotted over, Simon a half step ahead of his colleague. "Looks like Mother Nature has it in for us."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Get the tarps out, make sure there's enough to cover the areas we're working on. The ones we've finished, have them filled in."

Grinning, Jean glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "Want I should put that Trask fellow in charge?"

Returning the grin, Honoria nodded to where Trask and Rushman had just come out of their tent heading for the portable 'loos. "Have at it, Jean."

The young woman, a plain girl wearing glasses and slightly on the plump side, nodded and trotted off. Pulling back the tent flap, Honoria invited Simon inside so they could talk privately. "I want you to see something." He followed her to the computer where the reconstructions were displayed. She scrolled until she came to the faces she wanted him to see.

Simon's mouth dropped open as he peered closer at the computer generated images. "Say. That looks like our guests. Amazing coincidence."

"See here." She minimized that and called up the report on the metal rod that had been in the man's right tibia. "I'd like to see him explain how a piece of modern medical technology was found in a 250 year old skeleton that looks like him found in a grave beside a second one that just happens to resemble his wife."

"Long lost family? It would explain their curiosity."

Turning to face Simon, Honoria shook her head. "He was sitting not far from me last night. It's difficult to see, but he does have a faint scar on his leg. It's in the right place for the surgery that would've implanted the rod. He had an excellent surgeon. Most people wouldn't notice it at all."

Simon leaned his hips against the edge of the table and crossed his arms. "So what're you going to do? Walk up to him and ask if he's died and come back to life? He's not a vampire. That much is certain."

"I thought all the modern vamps sparkled in the sunlight rather than turning to ash."

"That's only in the movies, Nori." She smiled at the nickname he'd given her and he returned it. "The real ones still turn into bats and fly through the air, swooping down on unsuspecting virgins." Simon used a spooky voice, adding an evil laugh at the end. He cut off when the computer beeped.

Clicking on the flashing icon brought up a video chat. Honoria was surprised to see a face she'd only seen behind Bobby. "Hello."

"Hello. I'm Audrey Biddle, forensic artist."

"Yes, I know. Pleasure to meet you at last." But Audrey wasn't listening. The young woman was staring wide eyed at Simon and smiling dreamily. "This is my assistant, Dr. Simon Abernathy."

Audrey smiled shyly seeming to make an effort to concentrate on the reason for her call. A quick glance at Simon told her that he was as smitten as Audrey. To get them back on track, Honoria asked, "How can we help you?"

Holding a tablet cradled in her left arm, she used a stylus to manipulate the screen. Audrey shrank down to the bottom right corner. "I thought you might like the family portrait I've just completed."

"Of course." Honoria remembered what Bobby had said the day before. "Bobby said you had plans for today."

Smiling, Audrey swirled the stylus in the air like a wand. "A wedding. And while weddings are tickety-boo, I had a different sort of magic in mind. Bobby…" her accent made the name sound like "Bubby", and Honoria just managed not to snicker, "…said you were particularly interested in the oldest male and female from Beta family. It's not complete, but I've got most of it done. Enough for you to see the family resemblances."

"That's super. Send it 'round and we'll have a look." Dipping her head and looking away from Simon reluctantly, the artist touched the screen in front of her and a moment later, Honoria had the drawing. She hit the print icon, and while the printer beeped and whirred, she said, "Thanks so much. We have to run, Audrey."

The video box shrank to a dot and winked out. "Simon, I've got a call to make and it's rather personal. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'll go get started battening down the hatches. Hope the weather man's wrong just this once."

"As do I, but we can't count on it." Waiting until Simon had gone, Honoria sealed the tent flaps, effectively hanging out a "do not disturb" sign. The printer finished spitting out the family drawing while the archaeologist opened the file where she'd copied all of the drawings on Beta family as well as the footage of Trask and Rushman she'd taken the night before. She opened all three, using the mouse to arrange them with the drawing below the others. Without taking measurements for a side by side by side comparison, all she had was her own expertise to go by and a whole lot of speculation. It had to be a coincidence. A huge cosmic accident. Whatever it was, she'd get to the bottom of it.

A small envelope appeared on the task bar. Email from Inspector Stevens. Reading it over, Honoria became even more bewildered. According to Stevens, Trask and Rushman were exactly who they said they were. An insanely rich couple with an interest in archaeology. Trask's family could only be traced back to a town called Thirsk in North Yorkshire in the very early 1800's. It was one of the prominent stagecoach stopping places between London and Edinburgh. The spelling of a name often changed over the generations until the original was lost with time, deliberately forgotten to avoid the law, escape from their past or just to make a fresh start. Trask himself was from California.

Rushman was another Yorkshire name, closer to Richmond in Surrey, but the woman's American accent had a touch of flavoring that didn't belong. More East Slavic than Rhode Island as Stevens' email said.

Minimizing all but the stills from the computer drawings, she read through the measurements of the bones, and it got her to thinking. There had to be some way to get an x-ray of Trask's or Rushman's femur in order to make a comparison with the bones at the Institute. Honoria replied to her cop friend's email with another query of a different nature then sat back and thought about everything, jumping when someone called out to her.

"Yo, doc. You decent?"

She quickly X'd out of the open files then folded the page she'd printed and stuck it under a Lucite paperweight replica of Stonehenge. "Come in, Mr. Trask."

His shadow crouched and slowly stood as he unzipped the front of the tent. Parting the sides, he stuck his head in, not looking around as most would do. "Call me Dominic or Dom, if you want. We got all those holes covered. Anything else you need?"

"You can ask Simon, but I think that's enough for today. The lot of us are driving into Glasgow for shopping. We'll stay for in town dinner, if you'd like to join us."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. "We've got errands to run so call and let us know where to meet."

"I will." Her smile stayed in place even after Trask had gone. That man had a glint in his eye that she recognized from when she'd first met her ex-fiancé, Julian. And like Julian, he was charming, personable, entertaining, and he made her laugh. To her, this meant he was up to no good. And if he was up to no good, what did that say for his companion? But what could they possibly want? What would they gain from being at the dig site? Why did they look so much like Audrey's renderings of two people long dead?

Both kept a wary eye on everything that went on around the site, and Honoria would've expected to see them taking videos pretending to record the excavation while secretly filming the people. Again, she asked herself why they were really there.

Thinking about their guests was driving her bonkers. Taking a deep breath, Honoria blew it out and turned her mind back to work, not realizing that she'd written her suspicions on a sheet of paper.

~~O~~

Hours later, Clint sat in the Jeep hidden in the trees waiting for the dig team to leave so they would have free reign to search tents and computers. Natasha had gone into the woods to locate a suitable place to relieve her bladder. Just as she was coming back, several SUVs drove past their hiding place. Clint watched through binoculars, doing a quick head count. "I count sixteen total. That's everyone."

Natasha slammed the door and buckled her seat belt. "You search the tents and I'll get started on the computers."

"We should be done long before we're expected to meet them for dinner." He pulled to a stop, shut off the engine and they got out. He turned to face his friend when she touched him on the arm.

"What if we don't find anything? I don't think I can take this much longer." She crossed her arms and looked away to hide the strength of her emotions from him even though she knew it was futile. Eventually, she spoke. "I'm going to check out Higgins' computer again."

"I'll search her tent while you do that."

Natasha again made short work of hacking into Higgins' computer. While she did that, Clint examined under the table and cot. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a sock that had been missed while gathering up dirty laundry. He left it and looked around, and chose the small chest under the table.

Then, his eyes fell on Natasha typing at the computer. Even sitting down, her movements were fluid, precise, graceful, elegant. Her calm demeanor tempered his hotheadedness. The two of them balanced each other out.

Something that had been floating round in the back of his mind suddenly gelled. Already down on one knee, he felt it was the perfect time to express those thoughts. Take them out and let them live in the light instead of hiding them in a dark corner of his mind so no one would suspect the truth.

"Nat?"

She answered absentmindedly, not really listening, "Hmm?"

"Nat!"

Now she looked at him with that "What the hell do you want now" expression. The one she gave him when she thought he was being an ass. Hopefully, what he had to say would change that. "What?!"

"I've been thinking." Never having done this before, he was surprised at how uncertain he felt. It was as foreign to him as living on the moon would be, but he plowed ahead. "We should get married."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Unnamed cab driver

Phil Coulson

Melinda May

Olivia Taylor, cellist

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 5**

Natasha's hands stilled on the computer, and Clint wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. After several dozen heartbeats, she started again. "Nat?"

A snort of stifled laughter sounded loud in the peaceful atmosphere. "Don't joke around while we're working."

"I'm not _joking_." He understood her reserve. Hell, he could be the poster boy for commitment phobia. All his adult life he'd avoided long-term relationships just as Natasha did and for similar reasons. And that's what made them getting married the perfect solution. They already had a child. Marriage was the next logical step, wasn't it?

She glanced at him and away, a slight smirk on her lips. "Then you've finally gone insane. It just took longer than I thought."

Reaching out, he stopped her movements by covering both hands with one of his. "Stop that and look at me. Please." She did so reluctantly. This wasn't going as well has he thought it would when he made the decision less than two minutes ago. "It makes perfect sense." She started to interrupt and he put a hand out to stop her. "Just hear me out."

Taking her hands from under his, Natasha crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

"We already know each other so well…"

"…we finish each other's sentences?"

Ducking his head, he grinned. "Yeah."

She scoffed, and he continued, taking hold of her hand as he prepared the rest of his argument. "You and me, we have a level of trust that we don't share with anyone else. I would take a bullet for you in a heartbeat, and I know you'd do the same for me. We fight, but we always make up. I feel your joys and sorrows as if they were mine. And it's not like either of us is seeing anyone."

Natasha peered at him as if thinking it over. "Granted. All of it. But there's one thing you didn't mention."

"Love?" Standing, he drew her up with him, lightly gripping her upper arms. "We have that too."

For a split second, Natasha looked afraid, her mouth dropping open. "Clint…"

He stopped whatever she'd been about to say by covering her mouth with his. She resisted at first, continuing to hold herself stiffly, but he was patient, and soon she began responding. Then, just as suddenly, she pushed him away. "Car."

"****!" Making sure that everything was as Higgins had left it, he went to the tent opening and looked out. He could hear it now too. The computer shut down and Natasha came to his side, slipping past him out into the clearing. She waited while he zipped the tent closed again and together they ran to the Jeep. He started gunned the engine, backed up and drove into the woods until they could no longer see the camp.

~~O~~

When the other vehicle passed by, Clint headed back toward Glasgow. The ride was quiet and tense, Natasha admitting only to herself that some of it was sexual. What they'd told Hoffman was true. Not once in their partnership had they crossed that line. It was a mutual, unspoken rule that sex would never enter the equation even though they shared a strong mutual attraction. But now…

Clint had kissed her many times in the course one mission or another, yet this time it felt different. Maybe because they weren't putting on a show for the benefit of others. This time was all about _them_. No show.

As they neared Glasgow, Natasha, still trying to sort out her conflicted emotions, turned to Clint, taking hold of his hand. "No."

Without taking his eyes from the road, he asked, "Why?"

"I don't want to get married just because no one else will have us."

He pulled free of her grasp and she sensed annoyance, irritation and disappointment. "I never _said_ that. We _do_ have a child together, even if the circumstances weren't exactly normal. We work and play well together. We also care about each other."

"As _friends_. We both know that just isn't enough for you." Having dented their relationship by rejecting his proposal, she didn't wonder if it would survive. They'd been through much worse. Loki, the invasion, Gdansk, Budapest, the list was long. This too would pass. "And love is…"

"Do _not_ give me that 'love is for children' crap again because you and I both know that's exactly what it is. A big load of bull****."

There was no talking to him when he got like this. Turning to look out the window, Natasha let him simmer in his own juice for a while. For a long time, she didn't think he would say anything more. Then, "What about Selvig? Did he find anything in the download you sent?"

Again, Natasha sensed that her partner was taking refuge in the familiar waters of their mission to hide the hurt. She did the same, and wouldn't deny him the time to do whatever he needed to in order for them to be good again. "Probably still working on it."

"Or he got sidetracked."

"That too."

Clint didn't say anything more for the rest of the ride, but Natasha wasn't worried. He would always behave in a professional manner when the situation called for it. Outside of that, she prepared herself for the ensuing cold shoulder/silent treatment double whammy that was sure to wedge its way into their exchanges. "Told Higgins we'd meet for dinner, but that's not for a while yet."

"I need a few things so drop me at the Sky Mall." Without comment, Clint made a left turn at the intersection, and a short time later, Natasha got out. "Pick me up in two hours."

He nodded without looking at her, pulling away from the curb as soon as the door closed. Not once in their relationship had she ever thought that Clint would be anything but what he appeared to be. But now, with this proposal hanging between them, he saw her refusal as something other than that she just didn't want to get married. He saw it as one more disappointment after all he'd experienced in his lifetime.

Taking out her phone, Natasha dialed as she walked down to a small café and seated herself on the patio. When the line was answered, she almost hung up, then a familiar voice spoke and suddenly she wanted to cry, or scream or scream to keep from crying. She wasn't sure at this point.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly when the voice said, "_Talk to me, Tasha_."

_How does he __always__ know?_ "Hello, Phil. Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing with your new team."

"_We talked about that at lunch last week._" There was a pause. "_What did Clint do this time?_"

She didn't want to talk about it, yet she did. "He's just being Clint. This thing with Annabelle has him tied up in knots and he doesn't always know what he's saying."

"_What about __you__?_"

"Work's fine. _I'm_ fine. I'm _always_ fine." _Aren't I? Not really._

Voices in the background stopped and the sound of an airplane engine told Natasha he'd closed himself in his office. "_Aren't you tied up in knots too? She's your child and you haven't seen her for more than three years. You must feel __something__._"

She smiled and nodded when the server set a steaming pot of tea in front of her. Ashwagandha tea had been used in Indian medicine for thousands of years. It was said to promote a general sense of well-being to help clear the mind. It was also used to treat hypertension, nervous exhaustion and severe stress. Well, Clint's proposal and the aftermath certainly qualified as severe stress. "I'm Russian. She'll be home when she's home and not before."

"_I see. So if she __didn't__ come home, you'd feel nothing?_"

"Of course I would. But if she doesn't come home, I have to believe there's a reason. That she's well taken care of by the people who found her."

The creak of Coulson's chair was a familiar sound in a world suddenly not as familiar as it once was. In her mind's eye, she pictured him unbuttoning his dark suit jacket and sitting down with one leg crossed over the other. "_Drink your Ashwagandha tea, get a good night's sleep, and try not to think about how maddening Barton is_."

Natasha's jaw dropped open. "How did you…"

"_Take care, Tasha._"

Coulson rang off before Natasha could follow up her almost question with another. How did he know what she was drinking? How did he know Clint was making her crazy? Did he really know both of them that well? The answer to the last question was easy. Yes, he did. Just as Clint knew her every mood. She didn't have to say anything. He just knew. That revelation brought with it the realization that she really did care about Clint. They were more than just friends and partners, and she'd been wrong to dismiss his proposal out of hand. She refilled her cup and sat there sipping tea and thinking. And what she thought about was how, with just four words, everything had changed.

_We should get married._

It put an entirely new spin on the word "partnership." One that Natasha wasn't sure she needed. Wanted? Perhaps. Deserved? Definitely. Needed? The answer to the last question wasn't as black and white as it once was. Since removing herself and the other girls from under Petrovitch's thumb, Natasha had attended only to _her_ wants, _her_ needs, and not those of someone else.

She pushed her former mentor from her mind, paid for her tea and walked back to the shops where Clint had let her off. When she emerged not more than twenty minutes later, she flag down a cab telling the driver, "Take me to a liquor store."

"Aye, miss. Any particular one?"

"The most expensive store in town. And wait for me. I'll only be inside for a moment."

The man tipped his hat and smiled. "Yes, miss."

~~O~~

Coulson ended the call from Natasha, but instead of going to check that FitzSimmons weren't about to blow up the bus, he watched the clouds. Here, among them, it was impossible to discern imaginary shapes one could see from the ground. At this altitude, they were just wisps of condensed water vapor floating in the atmosphere. Some looked like cotton balls. Others like cotton candy. He tried to remember the last time he'd lain on a blanket and looked up at the sky just for the joy of it.

Olivia.

Before Pepper became CEO of Stark Industries and long before she and the billionaire became an item, Stark had sponsored a fundraiser for the New York Philharmonic. Pepper, annoyed with Tony, as she was much of the time, had asked Coulson to be her escort.

He and Pepper had been enjoying a pleasant evening, sipping champagne and schmoozing with New York's elite, when Stark dragged her away. Anxious wasn't a word anyone normally associated with the son of Henry Stark, but when it came to Pepper, the man was hopeless.

Staring out the window at the snow drifting down turning the city into a wonderland, Coulson saw a face reflected in the window, and when it came close, he realized that it wasn't Pepper. Her hair was ash blonde and her eyes green. When she spoke, he had detected a trace of west coast in her speech. He let their first conversation come into his conscious mind for a visit, but not to stay.

"_You got stood up too, huh?"_

_Smiling, he looked over his shoulder to where Pepper was arguing with Stark. "She's just using me to make Stark jealous. And I don't mind."_

"_What has a man like Tony Stark got to be insecure about?"_

_A server came by and Coulson exchanged their empty champagne glasses for full ones. "You'd be surprised. Phil Coulson."_

"_Olivia Taylor, third chair cellist. What do you do, Phil?"_

"_I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Division." Olivia's eyes narrowed as she puzzled out the cumbersome title, and he let her off the hook. "Just call us SHIELD."_

Shortly after that, Pepper and Stark disappeared. Phil gave Olivia his card and shortly thereafter they started dating. When the time came for them to make a decision about where their relationship was going, Olivia broke the news that she was moving to Portland, Oregon to play in their orchestra. It was a good move personally and professionally. She would be closer to home. Her parents were not in the best of health and she would be close enough to drive down on her days off.

And that was the end of that.

He felt someone come up behind him though she made no sound. Dressed in black, her dark brown eyes saw everything while giving the impression she saw nothing. May came to stand beside him, hands clasped behind her back. She radiated sex appeal and danger, all kept under iron control. But when she did let go, God help whoever got in her way. "Something I can do for you, May?"

"Once in a while, call me Mel. Just for old times' sake."

A half smile turned up the side of his mouth facing her. "The circumstances aren't the same."

"True. We both have our clothes on."

Her delightfully deadpanned tone startled a laugh out of him. He'd missed that from her. Turning away from the view, Coulson leaned against the window with his arms crossed. "Sure you want to be reminded of that time?"

May assumed the same pose, pursing her lips impishly. "Why not? They were some of my best times." She looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. "Consistently eight point five out of ten."

"Only eight point five? I must be losing my touch."

Her smile turned seductive as she leaned close enough that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. Smell the musky scent of her natural bouquet, reminding him of that other life, the one before he'd died.

"No, you haven't, Phil. I took a half point off for snoring." She didn't create distance between them again. In fact, she eased a little closer. "What's wrong? Tell me."

"Nothing I can't handle." Though he waited for May to leave, she stayed, knowing he'd give in sooner or later and tell the truth. "Barton and Romanoff. They've hit a bit of a snag in their partnership."

May's lips pursed and her right eyebrow crawled up a quarter of an inch, a sign that her next comment would be snarky. "Tell them to get a room."

"The thought has crossed my mind a time or two. And when this current crisis is over with, I plan on doing just that."

This time May snorted. "More like twenty. I've seen them together. You couldn't cut the sexual tension with chainsaw." Patting him on the arm, May headed for the door. "Get some rest, Phil. Talk to you later."

~~O~~

Clint planned on arriving late to pick his partner up just to be an ass. His purpose was to let Natasha know he was pissed. She already knew, but it wouldn't hurt to let it go on for a while. If he read her right, the impromptu shopping excursion was more about de-stressing than because she needed anything. Sure, he could've picked a better time and a much better place for a proposal, but neither of them was into all that hearts and flowers crap. Romantic candlelit dinners weren't something he equated with his partner unless she was on the job, and it's not like it was real.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. Natasha was a spy and an assassin. She was also a woman. Weren't all women hardwired to fall for that crap? If so, he had no idea how to proceed. What he needed was advice, and he knew just who to call.

Using his thumb, he speed dialed a number he hadn't used in a while. It was answered on the second ring. "Hey. Got a few minutes?"

"_I've been expecting your call._" Clint could hear the wry grin in Coulson's voice.

_How could he've been waiting for me to call when I only made the decision ten seconds ago?_ "I need some advice. You see there's a situation that… What I mean is…"

"_Tasha._"

"Yeah. I, uh…" _Am I __really__ gonna to say this out loud? I guess so._

Background voices interrupted and Coulson covered the phone for a moment then was back. "_She's upset with you._"

Rolling his eyes, Clint said, "Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"_What did you do this time?_"

"Nothing really." Coulson didn't say anything, but Clint felt his skepticism through the phone. Rubbing the back of his head, the archer worked out how to say what he needed to without sounding like an idiot. Nope. Wasn't going to work. "I asked her to marry me."

Clint waited for his friend to express his shock. He was sadly disappointed when Coulson said, "_And?_"

"What do you mean 'and'? I just told you I proposed to Natasha and that's all you have to say? 'And'?"

He heard a mini-fridge open and close, then the snapping of a bottle top being twisted off. "_You were expecting me to be surprised and stunned into speechlessness? Sorry to burst your bubble, but I saw this coming the day you disobeyed a direct order to assassinate her._"

"How the hell…" He started to slam his fist against the steering wheel, but didn't want to risk accidentally deploying the airbag. "She thought I was _joking_. Called me _insane_. Can you _believe_ it? I gave her a list of logical reasons why it's a good idea and pointed out that neither of us is in a relationship."

"_Did you also ask her to sign a contract spelling out your connubial duties-in triplicate of course-and have it notarized?_" Coulson paused to take a drink.

Shrugging though his friend couldn't see or hear it, Clint's voice was subdued. "Well, when you put it like _that_ it sounds _stupid_. But Nat's not…romance, isn't her thing. Mine either."

"_You don't get it, do you? No matter what they say, women __want__ to be swept off their feet._"

That sounded right, except for one thing. "Even someone like Nat?"

Coulson made a sound of impatience mixed with exasperation. "_Especially__ someone like Tasha. Women like her need it more than others just because of who they are, or who they have to pretend to be._"

"So I should appeal to the soft, vulnerable Nat underneath the assassin. Psht! I can do that." Clint thought for a minute. "_How_ do I do that?"

His friend chuckled. "_You'll figure it out. Keep me in the loop._"

Before Clint could say another word, the line disconnected. He leaned to the right, shoving the phone into his back pocket as he pulled to the curb and waited for Natasha to get in. She slammed the door, buckled her seat belt and stared straight ahead after placing her purchases on the floor board. Keeping his eyes on the road, Clint said, "Higgins called. Still wanna have dinner?"

"Yes. Unless you don't."

"I could eat." He sneaked a peek at her, but nothing showed on her face. "Let's at least pretend we're not fighting."

Natasha turned her head to look at him then away again. "Who said we were fighting?"

"You did."

"I did not."

He scoffed. "Did."

"Didn't." She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Because I turned down your offer of marriage, that means we're fighting?"

"Yes." Clint thought better of his answer. "No. Hell, I don't know. I've never proposed to anyone before so this is new territory."

"And you think it isn't for me?" She took a breath and blew it out. "Yes, I've had men propose, but it wasn't _me_ they wanted. It was the fantasy. The fiction. It wasn't _real_. This, you and me, is the realest relationship I've ever had. I don't want to lose that because your ego's been injured."

Clint slammed on the brakes and swerved to the curb, turning in his seat to look at her, more than a little frustrated. "_Ego?_ _That's_ what you think this is about? That I did it to feel better about _me?_ 'Cause it's _not_."

"Funny, but that's exactly how it sounded. 'We have a kid. We might as well get married.'" She deepened her voice for the last part, though it wasn't even close to how he sounded. "I don't want to be the one someone settles for, Clint. And that's what this feels like."

Forgetting his earlier resolve not to do so, Clint smacked the steering wheel. "Fine! Then I'm calling a do-over. Marriage is off the table. I never asked, and you never said no." Clint snapped his fingers, checked for traffic and pulled back onto the road, taking the next few turns, fuming the whole time. His anger started to abate, but he didn't _want_ to not be mad. Not yet. He made one last turn and pulled into the parking lot of a pub, whipping into the last empty space.

Natasha let herself out, walking around to stand at the back where Clint had already unlocked the hatch. He waited while she'd stowed her purchases then slammed the door. Keeping a wide space between them, he avoided looking at her and she returned the favor. Reaching past her to open the door, he looked down when she put her hand in the middle of his chest. "Let's not fight in front of Higgins and her team or she'll rethink her decision to let us stay."

"No worries. If anyone gives it away, it won't be me." Taking his comment as a rebuke, her scowl deepened, the hazel of her eyes turning to a dark green that he always found highly entertaining. She was beautiful when she was mad, but not when she got mad at _him_.

Once inside, the group from the dig waved, and Clint slipped easily into his assumed persona of a rich philanthropist who was very much in love with his wife. "Look, babe. I told you they'd still be here."

Though the tension stayed between them, Clint and Natasha acted their parts flawlessly. At least Clint thought they had. An hour later, he was coming out of the men's room just as Higgins came out of the ladies'. Standing back so she could go ahead of him, he was surprised when she drew him into a corner out of the way. "Is something wrong between you and Natalie, Dominic?"

"Why?"

"You're both being overly polite to each other meaning you've either already had a dust up or you're about to."

Shaking his head, Clint smiled reassuringly. "Just a slight difference of opinion. Nothing we can't handle."

The archaeologist made a disbelieving snort. "Differences of opinion don't usually get you the cold shoulder."

Spreading his hands out to the side, Clint used his most persuasive smile. "What can I do to convince you?"

"More than you've done so far." She nodded over his shoulder. "We should get back."

Standing to the side, Clint let her pass then followed. Instead of straddling the chair as he had been, creating even more distance between them, he spun it around, sat down and scooted close enough to lay his arm along the back of Natasha's chair. Leaning forward just a little allowed him to nuzzle her ear. "Miss me, babe?"

If Natasha thought his actions odd, she didn't say so as she rubbed her cheek against his. "Always, babe."

Before she could withdraw, he kissed her, long and slow.

~~O~~

Just this once, Natasha allowed herself to enjoy being kissed by Clint. It was something they did all the time in the course of one mission or another, but now, with his proposal and the do-over on the table, it felt different. It felt real, this affection he professed for her in front of others, and not play acting. Who was he trying persuade, them, her or himself?

Something down inside told her that if she let him kiss her like that again, she would begin to believe they could actually have the normal life that both had missed out on. But could they have a successful marriage? Raise their child just like anyone else? Have a house in the suburbs? Pets? Grandchildren? Grow old together?

Did she want to take the chance that her heart-and his-might be broken? If that happened, it would mean the end of their working relationship because she couldn't see them being able to get past the hurt and go back to being just friends again.

Tonight, she wanted to take their relationship to the next level just to show him how it _could_ be between them, if they let it. If _he_ let it happen. Then something stirred inside her. All her adult life she had used sex to manipulate others. Now, just thinking about making love with him caused her heart to skip a beat.

Easing her lips from his, Natasha smiled so he would know she'd forgiven him for being an ass. Later, she'd convince him to forgive _her_ for being an ass. Relaxing into his embrace as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, she could feel his startled intake of breath when she placed her hand on his upper thigh and gave it a squeeze.

Not tonight, but soon, she would invite him to propose again, and when he did, she would say yes. Until then, why couldn't they still be friends and partners while reaping the benefits of a physical relationship?

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Dominic Trask

Natasha Romanoff/Natalie Rushman

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

Jean Carty, archaeology student

Agent Phil Coulson

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 6**

Back at camp, Clint walked through the darkness carrying his clothes in one hand and a flashlight in the other. After the arguments he had with Natasha today, he felt like he had to be away from her for a while. Someplace where all that was required is that he just breathe and didn't have to deal with the crap his life had become. He would do that, but not until Annabelle was home. Until then, no rest for the wicked, and he was about as wicked as they came. Or had been. If he'd known what was in store for him when Coulson offered him a job all those years ago, he'd have spit in his eye and run. Far and fast.

The steady glow of a single lantern showed Natasha moving about inside their tent. How would they handle being alone together now that they didn't have other people as a buffer? He'd planned on talking to her on the ride back from town, but Higgins had asked for a lift. A situation which allowed Clint and Natasha to ask questions about the dig and what they'd found so far. Though Higgins had enthused about everything they found, he felt she was holding back. Didn't blame her. They'd only known each other for forty-eight hours.

Whenever he caught her staring, she would shrug and give no apologies. It wasn't so much the staring as the pensive nature of it, as if he and Natasha were specimens under a microscope.

Pulling aside the tent flap, Clint ducked inside. Natasha was lying on the bed on top of the covers with a tablet in her right hand, scrolling with the left. "Selvig's taking too long so I've been looking over the data that Higgins and her people have compiled."

"Find anything of interest?"

"I did." She patted the bed next to her, and he obediently lay down next to her so he could see the screen. "She seems to be especially interested in artist renderings of a couple of the bodies they found."

Using her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged two of the drawings. Their own faces looked out at them.

"What the hell?"

Natasha tapped the screen. "That's not all. Remember when you broke your leg in Yemen?"

"Yeah. Still aches sometimes when it's cold."

She minimized the drawings and brought up another screen. This one showed a titanium rod. Down one side were the dimensions and the approximate time period where it had been located. Mid-1700s. At that time, medical technology wasn't anywhere near that level.

The tablet came to rest on Natasha's chest. "Clint, what if…what if one of the bodies they found _is_ Annabelle?"

Rolling up to sit on the side of the bed, Clint rubbed the back of his neck, unable to look at his partner right now. "The bones they found have been there for over three hundred years. If one of them is her and the others really are us, then Selvig's plan didn't work. We went back, but we didn't make it home. It does give us a timeframe though. Selvig can extrapolate from the data Higgins and her team collected. Get us close enough to take a shot."

The bedclothes rustled just before Natasha rested her arm on his shoulder. He was still upset with her, but they didn't have anyone else to go to for comfort at the moment. After just another few seconds of self-indulgence, Clint moved away from Natasha, looking up when a bottle came into his line of sight. Macallan 30 Scotch. His favorite liquid indulgence. "What's that?"

"An apology. I don't want to fight anymore."

"Neither do I." A feeling of expectation started in his stomach and spread to his limbs. "So when should we get married?"

The smile on her face turned into a frown. "I haven't changed my mind, Clint. Getting married was never in my future, but don't let it stop _you_ from finding someone and settling down."

"I don't _want_ anyone else, Nat. I want _you_ and our daughter. I want the three of us to be a family. A _real_ family." The hand on his arm fell away and knew that he couldn't stay here with her. Not tonight. Taking one of the pillows, he edged around Natasha to the tent opening. "I can't be here right now. I'll sleep in the car. We can leave after breakfast."

"Clint…"

But he didn't stay to hear what she had to say. Climbing into the back seat of the Jeep, he dug one of the extra blankets from the very back, punched his pillow into submission and lay down. Through the window, clouds covered the moon, its glow the only visible confirmation of its existence. It made him wonder what would be left behind to validate _his_ existence when he was gone. What sort of legacy would _he_ leave behind when he died?

Clint supposed that it wouldn't matter if he died tonight, in twenty or thirty years, or over two hundred years ago. Everyone leaves their mark on the world. Each person is changed in some way by the people they meet, no matter how briefly.

There was the invasion. Not for a moment did he regret his part in saving the world from the Chitauri, only the events that happened after Loki had turned him. All the lives that had ended because he wasn't strong enough to resist when the scepter touched his chest. It had taken time, and his love for Annabelle, but Clint had eventually accepted that he wasn't morally or ethically liable for the deaths though he sometimes still felt he could've done more to prevent it.

And then Annabelle came along. She was his chance for redemption. _She_ would be his legacy. His and Natasha's.

Turning onto his side, he tucked his arm under the pillow and closed his eyes, awakening just at sunrise when a loud crash ejected him from a dreamless sleep.

Tossing the covers aside, Clint sat up to a torrential downpour, the center of the storm so close the lightning and thunder seemed to happen at the same time leaving a ringing in his ears.

He stuck a finger in his right ear and wiggled it to ease the internal sound. It helped a little. Wiping condensation from the inside of the window, he peered into the gloomy light to see members of the dig standing in the doorways of their tents looking out at the rain with disgust and dismay. Not only would the rain prevent them from working today, it could ruin some of the objects that were only partially uncovered.

A super bright flash of lightning accompanied by a horrendous crashed made him jump, and off to the left, a tree slowly crashed to the ground, landing on the area where the largest number of bodies had been found.

Clint bolted from the Jeep, running barefoot through mud and splashing through puddles just a few paces behind Higgins and most of the team. They stood there together looking at the devastation wrought by the tree. To Higgins, he said, "Oh, man. Think it's salvageable?"

"Won't know until the rain stops and the area dries out some." Nodding in the direction of the tents, she added. "Come on. Let's get back inside before we catch a chill."

From the corner of his eye, Clint saw the archaeologist giving him a contemplative look, almost as if she thought he'd somehow arranged for that particular tree to fall in just the right way to obliterate the evidence that he and Natasha had indeed traveled into the past where they'd lived out their lives. On the other hand, knowing what was in store could help the Selvig and his team refine the science that would aide in the rescue of Annabelle.

Resigning himself to hanging around until the rain stopped, Clint returned to the tent. He could hardly avoid Natasha while they were here. Breaking into a jog, he crossed the clearing and ducked inside out of the rain.

~~O~~

Watching from the doorway of the tent, Natasha didn't know if she should be relieved that Higgins' "proof" that the two agents had actually travel back in time had been destroyed or sad that they wouldn't be able to learn more. She didn't know for certain that the first was true, but to go by the looks on their faces, it was more than just a possibility.

She held the tent flap open for Clint and handed him a towel. While he dried his face and hair, she took out dry clothes for him, dropping them on the end of the cot.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and draped it over the back of a folding chair in the corner then dried his chest. But when he made to take his pajama pants off without a shred of modesty, Natasha turned to look out the tent opening until she was certain he was dressed.

Facing him again, she couldn't help but be fascinated by his feet. They were proportionately large for his five foot nine frame and well-shaped without any odd looking toes. To distract herself, she picked up Clint's wet pants and hung them over the back of the chair after moving the shirt to the seat.

There wasn't enough room to perform her martial arts routines and nowhere else to sit except the cot, but Clint was still giving off "do not disturb" vibes. She let herself down next to him taking care to leave some space so he wouldn't feel crowded. Something needed to be said, and it had to come from her. "I really am sorry, Clint."

"For what? Laughing at my proposal, calling me _insane_ for suggesting it, the arguments, or for thinking everything could be made all better by a bottle of scotch?"

"All of it. And to be fair, the Macallan did put a sizable dent in my bank account. Granted, not as big as if it had been purchased in the states, but large enough to deserve at least a mention." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "You also called a do-over. We're supposed to pretend all of that didn't happen."

Resting his elbows on his thighs with his hands clasped between his knees, Clint turned to look at her, the blue-gray of his eyes flickering over her features and away as he stood up again. "If that's what you want. Fine. It never happened. Let's start packing so we can get out of here as soon as the rain lets up. We'll leave behind the food, water, etc."

~~O~~

Taking a duffle bag from the corner, Clint set it on the cot as Natasha got to her feet. She stopped his movements by taking his hand and giving him a playful smile, her head tilted to the side. "Forget about packing."

Walking backward, she sat on the cot, scooting up to the pillow and motioning for him to follow. When he didn't, she raised up onto her elbows. He was still in the same place holding a T-shirt in one hand and blinking at her. "What's going on here, Nat?"

She sat up, both arms wrapped around her upraised knees. "I know it's not my A game, but I didn't think it would be this difficult to seduce you."

Clint shoved the shirt into the duffle bag. "I get that. What I don't get is why?"

"What do you mean, _why?_" Getting to her knees, she moved to the end of the cot until she was in front of him. "Just yesterday, you wanted to us to get married. Making love is part of that."

"Remember the do-over? You can't have it both ways."

Crossing her arms, she huffed at him. "It's called friends with benefits for a _reason_, Clint." The look on his face as he attempted to find a logical answer for her argument was almost comical, but laughing would be the wrong response, again. "We're friends, and I'd like us to share some of the more pleasurable benefits."

"You never said anything before. Why now?"

"Why _not_ now?" She wasn't angry. She just wanted to know his reasoning. "All the years we've been partners, it's been an unspoken rule: no sex. I'd like to know why."

Picking up the wet clothes, he balled them up and threw them at the tent wall. "Ask _yourself_ that question. You kept pushing we away any time I wanted to get close to you, Nat. A guy can only take so much of being strong-armed before he just gives up."

"And you couldn't just _say_ that?" Making a growl in her throat that sounded like the one a cat used just before she attacked, Natasha sulked while Clint dived into a full-on brood. Natasha didn't know how it was possible that they worked so well together as a team, yet couldn't seem to get on the same page with their personal lives. Another unsolved mystery.

~~O~~

Staring out the small air vent in the wall of her tent, Higgins wished the rain had held off just a few more days. By then, they would've had the destroyed artifacts removed and sent to Bobby and his team for analysis. The sketches and measurements would have to do.

Booting up her computer, she sipped a cup of Earl Gray hoping it would keep her awake. Rain always made her drowsy, and she had work to do. Setting the cup aside, she prepared to type her password into the system. Honoria saved all the data to an external hard drive then sent an email to Bobby to do the same, just in case. Being Sunday, she didn't expect to hear back immediately, but he surprised her by doing just that. He had always been a workaholic.

Opening her work folders, Honoria began going over everything that had to do with the bodies that looked like their guests. An hour later, the rain tapered off and finally stopped. Water still dripped from the trees and covered the tarps, though it would be a small matter to get rid of it. Movement outside told her the team was already doing just that. Then, another familiar sound intruded.

She stuck her head out the opening to see Trask and Rushman striking their tent. The pair worked well as a team. No wasted words or motions. Each knew what the other would be doing before they did it. Someday, Honoria hoped to have that with someone. Until then, work would be her life.

Sometime later, she was drawn out of the past back to the present by a voice at her tent. "Dr. Higgins? It's Natalie. May I come in?"

"Please."

Rushman stepped inside, glancing around at the room coming back to Honoria with a smile. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Dr. Higgins. Dominic isn't feeling well so we're moving on."

Honoria could see by the faltering smile that the two of them still hadn't gotten over their tiff from the other day. She wouldn't embarrass the woman by bringing it up. "It was interesting having you about."

"Well, neither of us is afraid of a little hard work. We'll stay in Glasgow a few days then head for our next destination. We're leaving behind all the food, wine, beer and water."

"Always appreciated. Archaeologists live off of the kindness of strangers." Hesitant to bring it up, Honoria cleared her throat before speaking. "I hesitate to mention it, but there's the matter of…"

"The investment Dominic offered? Say no more. I'll make certain he follows through. And do let us know when you've finished with your work. We'd love to read the paper on it."

"Of course." Honoria handed her a sheet of paper and a pen. "Give me your email address and I'll have my editor send an advanced copy."

Rushman wrote down the info and extended her hand. "Thank you again."

The archaeologist watched the other woman walk over to the Jeep and climb into the passenger seat. The engine started and they were gone, swallowed up by the forest. Many things about the couple puzzled her. She also wondered why Rushman had been the one to take their leave instead of Trask. Why they hadn't taken advantage of his obvious charm to talk their way out of paying the money promised on the strength of a handshake.

Not holding her breath, Honoria dived into her work to the soothing sounds of her team talking and laughing as they cleaned up the site.

**Three Months Later**

**Loch Lomond Village Dig Site**

Shivering inside her parka, Honoria knelt beside the most recent find at the Loch Lomond Village as they'd been calling it. So far, they hadn't found anything to tell them the actual name of the village whose residents they'd spent the last nine months digging up. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she was sorry they hadn't shut down a week ago. There was no sense in them all getting frostbite just for the sake of their science.

"Okay, boys and girls. I've had it. Let's pack everything up and get back to London." Rocking back on her heels, she stood up, grinning at the groans of relief from the team. "We'll pick things up after the New Year."

Suddenly, a strange sound filled the air seeming to come from all over. All eyes searched the sky until Jean pointed. "There! It's a helicopter."

Simon came to stand on the other side of Honoria, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Think it's that Trask guy bringing us Boeuf Bourguignon paired with the perfect Pinot Noir?"

Jean chuckled. "Julia Child would recommend pear with endive salad before and baked peaches and crumble after."

The helicopter landed, the door opened and a middle-aged man in a dark suit covered by a long coat jumped lithely to the ground, his hands clasped together in front of him. He seemed not to notice the cold. "Dr. Honoria Higgins."

The archaeology team walked toward him and stopped. With a quick glance at Simon and Jean, Honoria lifted her chin. "I'm Dr. Higgins. And you are?"

"You can call me Phil. I understand you had a visit several months ago from a man and woman going by the names Dominic Trask and Natalie Rushman."

"Yes, we did. What's this about?"

A man wearing a black uniform came to whisper in his ear. He nodded then returned his attention to his host. "You were promised funding for this project. I'm here to make good on that promise."

Honoria's suspicions had been aroused when the helicopter came into sight. Now they shot through the roof. "And?"

"And what, doctor?"

"There's always an and. No one gets anything for free, and all we provided for your friends was a couple of days of digging in the dirt and dinner in Glasgow, which Trask paid for, if I remember correctly."

Phil pursed his lips, his blue eyes glinting with and undefined emotion. Good. They understood each other just fine. "There's no '_and_'. There_ is _an '_however_'."

Simon leaned close to whisper, "Here it comes."

"My employers require access to all your research for this site. Past, present and future. Full disclosure. Nothing held back."

Honoria had been a member of the cast for this type of play on several occasions. The next line was hers. Shoving her freezing hands into the pockets of her parka, she adjusted her stance, leveling green eyes at Phil. "And if I don't allow it, you'll default on the agreement by withdrawing funding?"

"Certainly not." Phil took another step forward, head tilted down then slowly, he raised his gaze back to Honoria's. "We'll simply take what we want, and any professional or academic acclaim you and your team have reaped from your work here will come under scrutiny when the authorities found out that it's a sham. You'll be discredited, fired from your positions with the university and ostracized from the industry." Phil made a long dramatic pause in which no one on the archaeology team breathed. "Or we might just have all of you killed. Less paperwork."

Just for a moment, Honoria wanted to ask the man if he was bluffing. His expression was unreadable. Phil would make an excellent poker player. Unwilling to call his bluff, what else could the scientist do but say, "We'll be happy to share our work, Phil. And threats weren't necessary. All you had to do was ask."

Though he didn't change his posture or the flatness of his expression, Honoria sensed that he was pleased with the answer. From the pocket of his jacket, Phil took a piece of paper, holding it out as he stepped close enough for Honoria to take it. "The funds are untraceable, so please, don't waste _your_ time and mine by trying."

Phil started to turn back toward the helicopter, stopping in mid-step when Honoria asked, "Why didn't Dominic and Natalie come themselves?"

A brief moment of pain flashed through Phil's eyes and was gone. "I thought you understood, doctor. They're dead."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

This is coming out a day early at the "request" of one of my readers. Enjoy!

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Dr. Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Dr. Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

Jean Carty, archaeology student

Special Agent Phil Coulson

Dr. Eric Selvig, astrophysicist

Linda, astrophysicist

Director Nick Fury, SHIELD

Unnamed male prisoner

Mr. Badass

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 7**

Honoria and her team were so shocked to hear Phil's bald statement that they could only gape stupidly at the man. He handed her a card with his first name and a number, nothing more. "Call if you need anything."

"You're _certain_ they're dead?"

"As certain as possible. But don't despair, doctor. They could come back from the dead. _I_ did." He nodded, returned to the helicopter, shut the door and moments later it was in the air again.

Her team crowded around all talking at once, Honoria uncertain how she should feel at this point. The funding gave them leave to work without the cloud of a shutdown hanging over their heads. On the other side, it appeared to have come at the cost of two lives. She didn't know this for certain, and she wouldn't have asked if this Phil guy had given her the opportunity, but it was always sad when lives ended. Especially two who were so much in love and filled with _joie de vivre_ as Natalie and Dominic. "Let's get out of here."

Simon clapped his gloved hands. "Right. You heard Honoria. Pack it all in, boys and girls. We need to be on the road before Mother Nature uses us to get her jollies."

Everyone scattered, her assistants staying behind. Jean danced from foot to foot, cringing when a strong gust hit her in the face. "I thought they'd forgotten, and now they're dead."

Honoria chuckled as Jean's Scouser upbringing came out. "The thing odd is I looked them up not two weeks ago and found that Dominic's birthday was the day they left and that they'd been reported missing at sea. If I'd known… Oh, don't mind me. I'm just being maudlin. Well, don't just stand there. Get packing."

**Present**

"Dr. Selvig? You need to see this."

The scientist rushed to Linda working on the data from the dig site. Her job was to incorporate that information into their work on the time travel device and run simulations. The excitement in her voice gave Selvig hope that they'd finally worked out all the bugs and they'd be able to bring Barton and Romanoff's daughter home. The guilt he endured nearly matched that from when he'd been converted by Loki. "What did you find, Linda?"

She pointed at the screen. "I think we've located the time and place the subject was sent to."

Selvig examined the data on the monitor while Linda stood patiently by, a faraway look in his eyes that slowly gave way to animation. "Yes, I see. Fantastic! I'll call Director Fury immediately."

He patted his teammate on the shoulder then went into his office to make the call. "Director? Good news…Yes, sir…No, I haven't called them yet…I will, sir."

~~O~~

Watching the video feed of the sleeping prisoner, Natasha waited for just the right moment to show herself. She sent a signal and one of the guards threw water in the man's face. He came to spitting out the water and hurling abuse upon whoever could hear. Instead of being shocked, Natasha just rolled her eyes. She said worse to Clint while they were repainting Annabelle's room at his apartment in anticipation of her return, and he'd responded in kind when they did hers. Thinking of her daughter made her sad, and though she wanted to think about nothing else, there was work to do. On the monitor, the guard who'd awakened the prisoner tapped his headset. "_He's ready for you._"

"Wait until he starts to doze off again then ping me."

"_Yes, ma'am._" The first guard took his place on the opposite side of the door from his partner and waited.

When the prisoner's eyes started to drift shut, Natasha waited another sixty seconds then knocked on the door. It was opened by the second guard then closed and locked again. Natasha adjusted her black leather gloves as she walked around the man tied to the chair, her boots thumping. She'd purposely worn them as they also had a slight creak that seemed to disconcert subjects during interrogations. Once he was suitably intimidated, she'd ask her questions again.

The man had laughed at her the first time she came into the room, bare except for the chair sitting in the exact center and one dim light coming from above. There were no windows, giving it the feel of being far underground. It didn't take long for him to realize that humor was the wrong response when the Black Widow asked you a question, be it about the weather or the arms dealer you're working for.

As she came around on the man's right, she powered up her Widow's Bites, the glow giving the side of her face an eerie cast. Her smile was designed to strike terror in his heart. It worked. He shied away when she leaned close, saying in a sickly sweet voice, "Let's begin again, shall we? Who do you work for?"

"I-I told you. I don't _know_ his name. We've never even met face to face."

Standing up straight, Natasha moved so that the light fell only on the upper half of her face leaving the rest in shadow. "I don't believe you." Her voice was like the warning growl from a cat just before she claws you to shreds. "You must know something about him besides the email address he uses to contact you."

"I don't. I swear!" He began to whimper when she lifted her left foot and placed it against his chest, digging the heel into his solar plexus. "Ow! Please…"

She dropped that foot to the floor and slowly, one finger at a time, took off her left glove, flexing her hand. He closed his eyes and turned away, whimpering.

"Ma'am?"

About to backhand the man, Natasha reluctantly let her arm drop. "You know better than to interrupt me when I'm questioning a prisoner."

"Sorry, ma'am, but…" the guard revealed a moment of fear that he quickly suppressed, "…_he's_ here."

Taking a step back, she let her features and tone show fear just for a moment. "Oh, my God. He's early. Uh, invite him to join us." To the prisoner, she said, "You're in for a rare treat. My employer only makes personal visits on rare occasions."

There was a knock on the door and Natasha let fear show just for a moment then quickly covered it with an obsequious smile as she smoothed her hair into place then replaced the glove. The door opened and a man dressed all in black, sunglasses and a blank expression entered. Both guards came to attention, but the newcomer's eyes were on Natasha.

In a voice that wavered slightly, Natasha said, "This is an honor, sir. I was just…"

His gloved hand came up to stop her. "Yes, I know. I have another job for you."

He motioned with a finger and she leaned close so he could whisper in her ear. Nodding, she said, "I'll take care of it, sir."

Natasha scurried from the room and when the door had closed behind her, the man slowly removed his dark glasses, holding them over his shoulder until the first guard rushed forward to take them. The newcomer removed his leather gloves and cracked his knuckles on the left then the right hand. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Lakra. Perhaps you've heard of me."

In the office watching the video feed, Natasha shook her head, grinning at the stark terror on the prisoner's face. As she hooked a duffle bag over her shoulder, she heard Coulson say, "Who do you work for?"

~~O~~

Clint had spent a week shadowing his mark and wished he'd taken the opportunity to complete his mission three nights ago. The man spent almost every evening working out in his home gym after which he flexed and posed in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors before taking a long soak in the hot tub. That in itself didn't bother Clint. He'd had worse assignments. Helsinki came to mind.

What bugged the hell out Clint was that the man did all of it bare-ass naked. And how he'd earned his rep as a red hot lover with the "equipment" he sported Clint didn't know or care. He just wanted to get it over with so he go back to New York and finish Annabelle's room.

At the age of two, her favorite color had been purple and she loved cats, so he and Natasha had repainted her room in shades of purple trimmed in white with the occasional touch of blue, pink and green. A band of frolicking cats ran around the room at hip height for Clint, head height for a five year-old. He'd gone online and ordered her a canopy bed with matching dresser, vanity and desk. The stuffed cats, in all sizes and shapes, would be delivered next week. Clothing would wait until she was back so the sizes would be correct.

The next DIY project was a redo of Annabelle's room at Natasha's in a similar color scheme with a different design and furniture. Clint wasn't looking forward to being in a small room with his partner again. Ever since their trip to the Loch Lomond dig site, things between them had been tense, throwing off their rhythm. That's why he was in Toronto and she was wherever she was. For once, they hadn't traded mission info. In fact, they'd hardly spoken at all. Clint only knew Natasha was on a mission because Hill mentioned it.

Setting the binoculars aside, he rubbed both eyes with the heels of his hands, growling when the ringing in his ears started again. It was happening more and more frequently so he'd made an appointment to get it checked out right after this mission wound up.

Mr. Badass, as Clint had taken to calling him, was at the flexing and posing portion of the program, and he didn't want or need to see it yet again. He was contemplating giving it all a rest for tonight when his phone vibrated against his backside. Digging the device out, he checked the caller ID: Hill.

"Barton." His hand convulsed on the phone as Hill told him the purpose of her call then hung up.

Though he hadn't been planning on using it tonight, Clint had his bow with him just in case. He took out the bow, gave a flick of the wrist to open it then reached for an arrow. This job called for finesse. The arrow he chose had been specially designed to dissolve in chlorine.

Mr. Badass opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio surrounding the kidney shaped pool. Letting himself down into the hot and bubbling water of the Jacuzzi, a blissful smile came over his face. The cell phone setting on the edge rang, but he ignored it. Mr. Badass let his head drop back until it was resting on the edge of the hot tub with his eyes closed, his chest fully exposed.

Taking a bead on his target, Clint sighted and released in one smooth motion. Mr. Badass's eyes flew open at the impact. He looked down, one hand coming up as if to pull the arrow out. He breathed one last time and slid under the water.

As quickly and quietly as possible, Clint packed up and headed back to the safe house. Not bothering to change out of his Hawkeye suit, he opened the garage, strapped his bow case to the back of the Harley-Davidson Softail, straddled the beast and fired up the engine. He pulled forward so the garage door would close, gunned the motor and peeled off down the street, bending many of the traffic laws and breaking even more.

Arriving at the private airstrip, he left the Softail for the mechanic to put away as he climbed aboard the helijet. Clint completed his pre-flight in record time and was in the air.

**One Hour Later**

The helijet banked around and came in for a rough landing, but Clint barely noticed. He was in too much of a hurry. Not far away, another helijet landed and Natasha got out. He waited for her and together they descended to Selvig's lab where he greeted them at the door.

"That was fast. You need to be ready to go in two hours. Once you've passed through the portal, it will take seven days to build up enough power to reopen it, and it can only stay open…"

Clint interrupted, "Thirty-eight minutes?"

The scientist drew back in surprise. "What? No. Six minutes."

The archer looked down at Natasha when she touched his hand and nodded at Selvig. "We're ready to go _now_."

Not paying attention, Selvig went to consult with another scientist. They spoke in the language of their people. When Selvig turned and almost ran into them, he seemed surprised that Clint and Natasha hadn't left. "Why are you still here? Go get changed and pack everything you need for a trip to seventeenth century Scotland."

Clint sputtered a non-reply as Natasha dragged him from the room. "I'll explain it to him, Dr. Selvig. Come on, Clint."

"But, we were just…"He pointed over his shoulder at Selvig's lab. "I need to…"

"What you _need_ is to come with me. We'll be gone for a week. To blend in with the locals, our uniforms won't cut it. I've ordered clothing for both of us and we'll only take weapons that are period appropriate."

He finally stopped fighting her and picked up his feet. "And my bow."

"Op Tech made one that fits the period." Natasha held out her hand and Clint looked at it stupidly.

"What?"

She snapped her fingers and extended her hand again. "The iPod. Give it to me." Huffing, he took out the small device and slapped it into her hand. She opened her locker and put it way in the back.

"_Fine._ What about…"

"No, Clint. Only period weapons."

A junior agent came in pushing a cart with cloth sacks, satchels, clothing and a variety of medieval style weapons: A bow, a crossbow, two quivers of arrows and daggers in varying lengths.

Clint forgot all about being annoyed with Natasha when he saw the weapons, running his fingers over the simulated wood of the bow while his partner chose her weapons. Clothing hung on a hook attached to the end of the cart. She took down the set of men's clothing, slapping it against his chest. "Get dressed. You can admire the workmanship when we get there."

Rolling his eyes, Clint shucked his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. By the time he'd pulled the T-shirt off over his head, Natasha had taken her clothing to the other side of the locker room to change. Going over the last few weeks in his mind, he wondered how things between them had gotten so screwed up.

In front of others, they acted as if nothing was wrong, and no one seemed to notice any difference. Fury, Hill and Coulson weren't fooled though. But when they were forced to be alone, the tension amped up amid awkward silences. This trip into the past would give them time to talk, to hammer out some of their issues. _Ri-i-ight! Why don't line all the planets up in size order while I'm at it?_

He wasn't one to talk about his feelings. Not unless he was really, really drunk or drugged with animal tranquilizer like the time he told Natasha, Stark, Banner and Rogers he loved them. In his own way, he did care about them, but as friends and colleagues. And that led him to Natasha again.

Since she turned down his proposal, it had nagged at him, the reasons he gave her for asking. Yes, they were all valid and logical reasons, and eventually, he'd come to the conclusion that Coulson was right. He should've started with "I love you" and gone from there. With someone like Natasha, romance was a must, especially when asking her to make such a drastic change to her life. But now wasn't the time to worry about how to fix it. All that mattered was finding their daughter.

~~O~~

Looking at herself in the mirror, Natasha decided that she would make a decent medieval peasant. She'd played royalty on more than one mission, and probably would again, but she and Clint would draw less attention if they presented themselves as commoners.

Slipping the muslin underdress over her head, she pulled it down until it touched the tops of her feet. Over it, she added a tiered skirt in green and brown. A mustard yellow bodice laced up the front with a thin strip of brown leather. After pulling on socks, she shoved her feet into brown boots with buckles on the sides. Not exact, but she'd make due.

The last thing to go on were the daggers, strapped to her thigh, between the layers of clothing where she had easy access and one in each boot. Leaving her hair loose, she picked up the hooded cloak and went to see if Clint was ready. She carried other clothing as well, insisting on having at least one pair of pants for doing recon.

Natasha found her partner adjusting a knife at his waist until it was balanced just right. Watching from the corner of her eyes, she admired the lean lines of his muscles as they shifted under his clothes. He sat down to put on his boots then stood again, scooping up the vest and shoving his arms into it. As he dressed, his eyes kept straying to the bow and the crossbow. She had planned on taking the second for herself, but decided to let him keep it. He was stronger, making it a more effective weapon in his hands. She would settle for the daggers and her fighting skills.

As if he were reading her mind, he rubbed his thumb over the blade of a short dagger then shoved it into his left boot reminding her of their fight on the catwalk before she'd knocked him out. She won that fight, but had to resort to playing dirty to achieve that goal. Even under Loki's influence, he could still feel pain, so she bit him. His grip had eased up on her hair just enough for her to take advantage and slam his head into the metal railing, following it up with a hard punch to the jaw.

"I look like a freakin' _hobbit_."

The tone and volume of Clint's voice meant he didn't know she was there. So she wouldn't startle him into doing something they'd both regret, she stepped back and kicked the trash can with her foot. "Let me see."

Obediently, Clint turned in a circle, his arms out to the side as if to say "Can you _believe_ this?" His clothing consisted of black breeches, a white shirt with billowing sleeves and a black vest with laces to hold it closed. On the cart was a second hooded cloak, this one in black.

_He looks so __hot__ in black!_ That thought brought her to a screeching halt. _Did I just call my partner __hot?_ Not wanting to examine her thought processes, or lack of same, Natasha just smiled her approval. "You look fine."

"I _look_ ridiculous. Why couldn't I dress like a pirate?"

That almost made her laugh. Almost. Laying the cloak aside, she examined the contents of the sacks and satchels. Food, waterskins and inside a hidden pocket, she found a comm that utilized a long life battery. "This isn't Fashion Week. It's a _mission_."

"Where is it written we can't look _cool_ while doing it?" In front of a full length mirror, he brushed a hand through his hair. It was shorter than men of the time period where they'd be going, though she doubted anyone would comment on it. He began fussing with the neck of the collarless shirt, turning side to side. "Oh, who am I kidding? I make this look _good._"

Since disagreeing with Clint would lead to another of their bantering conversations and telling the truth would bring out his patented smirk, she said, "Of course you do." She hung two sacks amd a satchels over her shoulder then put the cloak on. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Clint put his cloak on, gathered the rest of their belongings and followed her from the locker room. As they descended, the lift stopped and several jumior SHIELD agents got on, all staring at Clint and Natasha with undisguised curiosity. Rather than ignoring them, Clint chose to explain. "We're going to a renaissance festival."

Holding in her laughter, Natasha exited the lift when the door opened and he was right behind her where she could feel his smirk in the air.

"Ah, there you are," Selvig enthused. "Everything will be ready in a few minutes. We're just making some last minute adjustments."

Clint's smirk turned into a frown. "You said it was good to go."

"It is." The scientist handed them each a very small piece of equipment. "Put these in your ears."

Looking at it with suspicion, Natasha asked, "What's this for, doctor?"

"They're receivers. When the portal is opened for your return, if you're nearby, someone will send a message through to guide you to it. Remember, you only have six minutes once it's opened or you'll be there another seven days."

"Got it," Clint told him.

"Is there anything else we need to know before we go?"

The older man shook his head. "Just remember to keep a low profile to prevent accdentally changing the future."

Natasha nudged him with her shoulder. "He means keep it in your pants, Clint or you'll wind up becoming your own grandfather."

Clint blinked at her a few seconds, ignoring the stifled snickers from the assembled scientists.

Natasha and Clint went to stand where Selvig directed them, in front of a large circular device with a short set of stairs. It looked like a smaller version of the portal through which Loki had appeared, but without the blue glow. Cables ran from it to the computer equipment on tables set up in a semi-circle around the near end. There were so many, one had to step lively to keep from falling flat on their face.

"Power up the device, Linda. Slowly. Start with ten percent increasing another five percent every thirty seconds until it's at full power."

"Yes, doctor."

The machine began to hum, lights flickering and glowing around the outer edges. When the hum reached a level beyond human hearing, the glow steadied. To Linda, Selvig said, "Perform the diagnostic."

What seemed like an eternity, but was in reality just a few seconds, Linda responded back. "Green all across the board, doctor."

With a grin, Selvig made an after you gesture. "Agents, its time."

Natasha shared a look with Clint and smiled. "Let's go find our daughter."

Taking her hand, Clint drew her with him up the steps where he paused only a fraction of a second before the two of them stepped through the portal.

~~O~~

Selvig and his team watched as Clint and Natasha stepped through the portal and, hopefully, into the correct year and place to find their daughter. When nothing happened, they released the breaths they hadn't realized they were holding, shaking hands and giving high fives.

The celebration came to an abrupt halt when the hum, now below the level of human hearing, though it could still be felt, turned into a whine that steadily rose, assaulting their ears and spurring them to begin tapping commands into the computers.

Selvig was beside Linda in an instant. "Shut it down! _Now!_"

Linda and the other scientists rushed to carry out his orders, but it was too late. There was a loud POP! Then smoke began to billow from the device. Here and there, sparks jumped from the joints on the cabling.

The light in the center, a visual representation of the vortex into the past, brightened until Selvig had to look away or risk going blind. The glow filled the room, moving beyond the walls and out through the entire complex. But it didn't stop there. It kept going until it reached the nearest electrical substation, shorting out everything in its path.

Linda uncovered her ears, slowly in case the noise started again, and one by one, the others followed her lead.

Selvig's disappointment showed in his voice. "Call Director Fury and tell him…"

Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness as the power cut out. A few seconds later, the emergency lights came on giving the vast room an eerie feel. Into the darkness, Linda said, "I think he already knows."

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Dr. Eric Selvig, astrophysicist

Linda, astrophysicist

Director Nick Fury

Angus McDonald, farmer

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's mother

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's sister

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's brother

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Crom Gilroy, friend of Tavish

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 8**

**Scotland**

**Late 1600s**

The shores of Loch Lomond were bursting with the smells and sights of an abundance of plants and flowers. Bluebonnets were plentiful, waving in the breeze as if to draw attention to their color and scent. A young girl answered that call by picking a bouquet that she would put in water and place on the table to brighten the evening meal. Forgetting that she'd been cautioned to stay with her older brother, seven year-old Winifred wandered farther and farther down the shore. Every time she thought about turning back, another patch of bluebonnets called out to her.

"Winifred! Mum's callin'!" Brendan's voice echoed over the loch, and she nearly dropped the painstakingly gathered flowers. "Winnie!"

"Aye, Bren. I'm _comin'!_" She turned in the direction of home, and had only gone a few steps when the wind picked up in the way it did before a storm. Puzzled, she looked up at the sky, clear blue except for a few puffy white clouds. The wind blew harder, accompanied by a strange sound, like that of some great beast crashing through the forest. Searching frantically, afraid to call out for fear of drawing the animal to her, she dropped the flowers to cover her ears, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping to her knees behind a bush.

Just as suddenly, the noise and movement stopped. Winifred looked about, but didn't see anything but the forest and the shores of the loch. Gathering up the blossoms, she heard something: The sound of a baby crying. "Who's there?"

Slowly, so she wouldn't frighten the young one, Winifred approached a small girl standing in an area where the grass and weeds had been flattened by the rampaging wind. There were twigs and grass in her red hair and she clutched a stuffed bunny. "Hello there. Where's yer mum and da?"

Of course the little girl couldn't answer her, not with a thumb stuck in her mouth. Winifred approached her with a smile, offering one of the flowers. The girl's breath hitched as she reached for it, muttered garbled words that sounded like "Sank 'u."

"You're a wee one t' be out alone. What's yer name?" Again the girl tried to speak, her mumblings barely intelligible. When Winifred held out her hand, it was taken. "Come. I'll take ya t' Mum 'n Da. They'll know what t' do t' find yer parents."

"Winifred!"

Rolling her eyes at her brother, Winifred called out, "Comin', Brendan!" The little girl dragged her feet as Winifred urged her along the path until she could see her older brother standing at the water's edge. He cupped his hands around his mouth, preparing to shout again. "Oy! I'm here. Don't be callin' me again."

"Hey, what's that?" Brendan stared at the girl holding Winifred's hand.

"Found her."

Wiggling his fingers and making a goofy face, Brendan hunched his shoulders. "Maybe she's a witch come to' cast a spell on ya fer keepin' us from supper."

Huffing at him, she lifted the hem of her skirt to keep from tripping. "Don't be silly. She's just a wee bairn."

Sobering, the boy, just gone ten years old, gave the small child a curious look. "What's that she's wearin'? Pantaloons? On a _girl?_"

Annoyed with her older sibling, Winifred huffed again. "'N why not? Many's th' time I've fallin' because o' this grotty ol' thing." She swished the skirt to pull it loose from brambles that had grabbed hold.

Ignoring his sister as if she was talking nonsense, Brendan broke into a run. "Mum! Da! Come see what Winnie's brought home."

While Winifred had dark auburn hair that fell in waves to her waist, Brendan and their mother had been cursed with stick straight dark blonde hair, and their dad's was brown like the leaves in autumn. She'd often wished her hair didn't set her apart from the rest of the family.

Her mother, slightly on the plump side, rushed from their cottage with her father coming from the barn where the cows, sheep, goats and horses slept. Beside it sat the chicken coop, the feathered creatures pecking in the dirt.

"Good gracious, look at th' poor dear. She can't be more than two years o' age." Edeen McKenna stopped when the child tried to hide behind Winifred. "She seems t' like ye, Winnie. Bring her into th' house. We'll get her some proper clothes 'n somethin' t' eat. She'll sleep here tonight then yer father will make inquiries when he goes t' market."

Her dad, who stood tall with a straight back in spite of all the years of working the fields, stayed out of the way as Winifred led her new charge though the house. She went into the bedroom she shared with her brother, pulling the curtain across the opening. Edeen joined them a short time later holding out a dress that was too small for Winifred, but still too big for their guest. "Have ye asked her name?"

"'Course I did, Mum. Not much of a talker though. Sounded like she said 'Ainsley'."

Edeen smiled serenely, crouching beside the little girl, but still not touching her. "That's a lovely name for ye, child. Until we find yer family, that's what we'll call ye."

Ainsley put down the stuffed bunny just long enough for Edeen and Winifred to help her change clothes then picked it up again, tucking it under her left arm. "Sank 'u."

"Yer so welcome, love. Are ye hungry?"

Nodding, Ainsley wrapped her tiny fingers around Edeen's hand and allowed the adult to lead her to the table. She made a face when she tasted the oatcake and Scotch broth but ate it all. When she was done, Ainsley got up from the table to wander around the cottage and into each of the bedrooms, coming back to Edeen and tugging on her skirt. "Potty."

"What's that, love?"

"Go potty!" the red-haired girl stated urgently, doing a funny little dance.

Finally understanding, Edeen took the girl into the other room and showed her how to use the chamber pot. At first, Ainsley adamantly refused to do her business there. Instead, she simply wet herself. When she tired of having to change her clothes several times a day, she also changed her attitude and everyone was happy. Especially Ainsley. And somehow, in less than twenty-four hours, the child managed to endear herself to the entire family.

~~O~~

Gavin drove the week's crops into town to sell at the market along with the wood carvings his son made in his spare time. While there, he questioned every stranger that came close enough to his stall. None had reported a missing child of Ainsley's age and gender. Several of the men seemed quite eager to take her off Gavin's hands but were turned down flat.

Riding back to the farm, Gavin prepared himself for the joy that his wife and daughter would display when they found that Ainsley would be staying with them permanently. It made _him_ happy to see his _family_ happy, though Brendan complained about being the only boy. Still, he would be glad the wee one was joining their clan. Only a week she'd spent with them and they already thought of her as theirs.

He pulled around to the barn, unhitched the horses, brushed them down and fed them, then filled their troughs with fresh water from the well. Before going inside, he made himself presentable for the supper table. If it had been him alone, he'd have just washed his hands and been done with it. But Edeen insisted that the family come to supper as clean as possible. Gavin had to admit it felt good to wash the dust and sweat from his hands, face and hair each day.

Before entering, Gavin knocked the mud from his boots and hung his cloak on the peg provided by the front door. He was one of the modern men who had moved away from wearing the kilt except on special occasions. To him, it was a way to honor their traditions while utilizing practicality in the everyday world. "I'm home, my loves."

The children gathered around to welcome him, Edeen swatting them aside so she could kiss her husband. "How was yer day, love?"

"Not bad. Sold near all I carried inta town." Sitting down at the head of the table, he was joined by Brendan on his right, Winifred on his left with Ainsley next to her and Edeen at the opposite end. "I asked around. No one seems to know who the babe belongs to."

His wife seemed afraid to ask the next question. "So she can stay? Oh, please say yes, Gavin. You know how we've wished for another child 'n th' Lord saw fit to bless us with one." Tearing up, she took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

Winifred was much more demonstrative of her opinion. She whooped for joy and threw her arms around Gavin's neck. "Thank you, Da!"

Later, when the children were asleep, Gavin found Edeen watching them from the doorway. At his urging, she pulled the curtain closed and came to bed.

**Present**

"What the _hell_ happened, doctor?" Fury and Selvig faced each other down in a small pool of light that came from the computer monitors hooked up to a generator. It gave their faces a ghostly appearance though neither man noticed or cared.

"There was a massive power surge as the agents stepped into the portal, Director."

"And what was the outcome of this surge? Aside from knocking out power to the entire Tri-State area."

Selvig straightened his shoulders taking up a defensive posture. "There are many scenarios that come to mind, all variations of three major concerns. One, they passed through to the other side without incident. Two, they were ejected forcefully and are injured, but alive and able to proceed with their objective. Or three, they were killed either by the surge or by being ejected with great force."

"I'm not liking number three at all."

"Neither do I, but we have to consider it as a possibility. However, until we have proof one way or the other, we're operating under the assumption that they reached their destination unharmed and are in the process of locating the child."

Fury agreed with that assessment but didn't say so. "What caused this surge?"

"An unforeseen circumstance changed the parameters of the event, Director."

"Are you _seriously_ telling me you didn't factor in all possible consequences of using this device?"

"Of _course_ we did. But no matter how much preparation one does, there can still be that one random event that you _didn't_ prepare for."

Hands on his hips, Fury glared with his one good eye. "Such as?"

"Someone tripped over the heavy duty cables we installed to shunt the extraneous power away from the device to a storage unit. The slight altering of one of the joints caused the stream to be fed back into the device instead of forcing it away."

Holding onto his temper with difficulty, Fury turned and strode off into the darkness behind the beam of light coming from his flashlight. "You have seven days to get that thing working again because I'll be _damned_ if my two best agents are going to be stuck in the past with no way to get home."

"We're already working on it, sir." And with those words, full power to the complex came back on, and though he shot a nervous glance at the device, it had already been disconnected and therefore present no immediate threat to those present. "You heard the Director. Let's get to work."

**Scotland**

**Late 1600s**

Rolling over onto his back, Clint did a quick internal diagnostic as well as an external one. He moved his limbs one at a time to ensure nothing was broken, and to his great relief, nothing was. He'd landed badly, hitting the shoulder he'd dislocated a few weeks back, but nothing major. Well, except for the blood coming from a gash in his scalp and all the bumps and bruises.

A moan off to his right reminded him he hadn't come to this place alone. Getting to his hands and knees, he looked around, spotting his partner lying in a patch of crushed blue flowers. "Nat? You okay?"

She groaned as she sorted herself out. "No, I am _not_ okay!"

Struggling to his feet, he stumbled in her direction only to collapse again just as he reached her. "Where-where are you hurt? Let me see."

One corner of her mouth turned upward. "It's my pride that's hurt the most." She tried to stand, but couldn't make it. "Bumped my head and my knee."

"That was _some_ ride. Better than the Kamikaze at that theme park when we were undercover…when was that?"

"Six months before the invasion. I never want to _see_ or _smell_ cotton candy and falafel ever again."

Sitting with his elbows on his knees and head in hands, Clint groaned. "Don't know what _you're_ complaining about. Once the manager found out I'd been with the circus, he stuck me in a costume and had me doing tricks for the kids."

She reached out and slapped his shoulder, gently. "You loved every minute. Admit it."

Shaking his head and chuckling, he was tempted to contradict her, but he couldn't summon the energy. "Fine. Whatever."

Natasha tried again and finally was able to stand though she experienced a wave of vertigo. She waited it out and everything eventually stopped spinning. Taking off his vest, he used his knife to cut strips off the bottom, handing them to Natasha. She then went to the water's edge, dipping the material into the cool, clean water. She squeezed out the excess and returned to where he was still sitting in the midst of the crushed flowers.

Dropping onto her knees next to him, she shook out one of the wads of cloth and began to wipe the dirt and blood from his face. The tension between them since his abortive attempt to convince her to marry him had abated somewhat, but still hung there like one of those sticky strips meant to catch flies. And like those strips, you could only avoid bumping into one for just so long. Now here they were and she was actually touching him and not because it was one of their sparring sessions.

He hissed in pain when she touched the cut on his scalp, but didn't shy away from her touch. And when she looked down at him, there was a moment where everything felt normal. She looked away. "It's not bad. Wouldn't even need stitches if we were home."

"Thanks."

Holding the other cloth, he shook it out and reached out to wipe the dirt and blood from her cheek, but she slapped his hand away, her face pinched in a scowl. "What're you doing?"

"Relax. You've got some…" Snatching the cloth from him, she dabbed at the sore spots. Just managing not to huff at her, he rummaged in one of the sacks, coming out with what looked like a water waterskin, but was much more than that. Grunting as he got to his feet, he trudged to the loch, holding it under the water until it was full. "Think we're in the right place and time?"

Without looking at him, she shrugged. "I recognize that rock as one from the video taken when she came through. But whether this is the right time remains to be seen. At any rate, we only have seven days to find her and get back to this spot or who knows how long we'll be stuck here."

"We're _not_ getting stuck."

"Something happened at the lab or we wouldn't have had such a hard landing."

He cleared his throat and when she finally looked at him, he pointed to a spot by her ear. She scrubbed at it until he took the cloth and did it himself, holding her still with a hand on her chin. "Any landing you can walk away from…" With a groan, Clint got to his feet and helped her to stand. "Which way?"

Picking up their belongings, she handed several to Clint, slinging the others over her shoulder. The bow, quiver and crossbow, she gave to him. "You didn't read the briefing materials? Clint!"

Not at all repentant, he picked a direction and started looking for a path or roadway of some kind. Natasha fell into step beside him. The urge to hold her hand, to again make a semi-romantic overture whispered through him, but he didn't allow it to control his actions. He would save that for when he needed to chase off prospective suitors. "My bad. So how are we playing this? What's our cover?"

"Married couple looking for a new home."

"That works. We can use our real first names. Clint and Natasha Lockhart from an unnamed village a _long_ way from here." The long silences from Natasha annoyed him. They had to find a way to get past this bump because he didn't want their daughter to grow up with the same rotten childhood he had. Parents who fought all the time, rarely saying a civil word to each other up until the day they died in a single car accident. Their child would know that she was loved and that her parents loved each other. Natasha loved him, he was certain. The hard part was getting her to not only admit it to him, but to herself as well. Both were going to be hard sells.

"Whatever," she snapped.

As they neared the path, he pulled her to a stop. "We won't convince anyone we're a couple if you won't even look at me."

To prove him wrong, she let her eyes meet his then shift away again. "There. I've looked at you. Can we just find Annabelle without all this drama?"

"How long are you going to treat me like I've done something unforgivable, Nat?" She shot him another of her looks, but he remained unfazed. A snort of mild amusement forced its way out of her, but whether it was the question or the look on his face when he said it, he couldn't tell. But at least she was laughing instead of screaming obscenities.

"_Izvinite._ Stress, I think. We waited so long for Selvig to get us here and were almost killed doing it. I can't help thinking what she's like after all this time. Will we know her when we see her? Will she remember us? Who's been taking care of her or has she been on her own? Did they abuse her in some way?" She dropped her eyes to the ground in front of her. "Was she killed by a wild animal before someone found her?"

Clint put his arm around her, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. "Don't go there. We just have to believe we'll find her." Dropping his arm, he turned toward the path up ahead. "Let's head to the village and question the locals. Find out if anyone in the area adopted a little girl in the past couple of years."

"This is why you should read the briefing materials, Clint. In this time, so many people died from accidents and disease that often, children were taken in by anyone willing to do so. Chances are that there's more than a few in this area alone. That number would increase in a larger population center like London."

The thought that some stranger had his child wouldn't leave him alone. Silently, he swore if Annabelle had been abused by her adopted family, they would die a slow and very painful death and he would enjoy every minute of it. Natasha put her arm around his waist, giving him a little squeeze telling him that she agreed and would be more than willing to help.

When they reached the road, Clint looked first to the left where it disappeared into the distance, then the right. It went straight for about fifty meters then turned. "Which way?"

From her pocket, Natasha took out a compass. "East for about five kilometers to the center of town passing farms on the way. It'll cause less of a stir if we start making inquiries at the local pub or public gathering place rather than going door to door."

"Considering that the farms are probably spread all over, I agree." Clint moaned and rubbed his lower back. "Crap! Everything aches. Let's see if we can hitch a ride."

"Just be careful what you say."

The sound of a wagon pulled by a pair of horses came toward them headed in the direction they needed to go. When the older man saw them standing on the side of the road, he tugged on the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt. "Hold up."

Natasha squeezed Clint's hand as a reminder of where they were even though she'd already admonished him. And even he admitted to himself that some things bore repeating. "Good day, sir."

He looked them over with a critical eye. "I be Angus McDonald. 'N yerselves?"

"Clinton Lockhart. My wife, Natasha." Clint was proud of his Scottish accent, and their potential host didn't seem to find anything wrong with it.

Angus thought that over a moment. "Where abouts do ya be headed?"

"We're traveling to the next village and would greatly appreciate a ride," the archer added a smile to the request.

Again Angus seemed to take a while to make a decision. "Get in th' back, 'n mind th' pig."

_Pig?!_ Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha stopped him by tapping him on the backside.

Natasha smiled. "We're in your debt, Master McDonald."

At the back of the cart, Clint waited for Natasha to climb up, but all she did was stare at him. Belatedly, he put his hands on her waist to give her a boost. He climbed up next to her, taking a seat just as Angus flicked the reins and they began to move. "Gi'up. Walk on."

~~O~~

Angus pulled to a stop in front of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn, waited for Clint and Natasha to get out then moved on. Clint held the door open and followed Natasha inside. The clientele was mostly men, with a few women and women doing the serving.

They took a seat at an empty table and a few moments later, an older woman with an enormous amount of cleavage set two tankards of ale in front of them. "Will ye be wantin' food as well?"

Natasha smiled and nodded. "Aye, please."

The server bestowed a brilliant smile on them. "I'll bring it round straight away, loves."

She returned shortly setting a plate Cullen Skink, a soup made from haddock, in front of each of them. They'd almost finished eating when a large man wearing a kilt swaggered across the room, his thumbs jammed into his belt. "Ye be strangers hereabouts."

While Natasha would prefer to do the talking, in this instance, she left it to Clint.

"Aye. Clint Lockhart, 'n my lovely wife, Natasha."

"Tavish Campbell. Griselda 'n me'd be what passes for gentry in these lands. Welcome t' Laomainn. How long will ye be stoppin' in our fair village?"

Shrugging, Clint spooned a huge bite of Scotch broth into his mouth then talked around it. "Not sure yet. Lookin' for work 'n thinkin' o' settlin' down here."

The attitude of Tavish and the men with gathered around him was meant to intimidate Clint, but he wasn't easily cowed. He also didn't like being threatened. Beside him, Natasha stayed relaxed though he knew she was ready to take on attackers if there was a need.

"What sort of work d'ye be lookin' for?"

Clint shrugged on shoulder. "Anything that's available."

"Are ye now?" Trying to make the gesture casual, Tavish cast a glance over his shoulder at a man in the corner. Pretending to keep Tavish in his sight, Clint used his incredible vision to take in this new player. He was slender yet muscular with shaggy hair and a long, equally unkempt beard. From the way he was sprawled in the chair, he had to be at least a head taller than Clint, maybe more. Natasha's foot touched him in warning and he reassured her with a nudge of his knee.

The man got to his feet, sauntering across the room to stand beside Tavish. "I be th' best at knife throwin' these past seven years in th' games at Her Majesty's birthday celebration. Shall we have a go?"

A smirk threatened to get out of control, but Clint was able to rein it in as he got to his feet. "Pretty fair with a knife, m'self 'm accept yer challenge."

The man shoved his thumbs into his belt, feet shoulder width apart and shoulders back. "Name's Crom Gilroy. 'N just t' show ye m' sportin' nature, ye can start us off."

This was obviously standard operating procedure when strangers came to town. Not wanting to show his hand too soon, Clint pulled the knife at his waist from its sheath, keeping the others in reserve, just in case. "What's the target?"

Tavish indicated the tavern's coat-of-arms hung on the wall to the right of the main entrance, the wood bearing many knife holes, confirming Clint's suspicions that this was a test of some sort. The shield had a pair of crossed lances behind it with the name of the tavern as well as a man on horseback brandishing a lance in one hand and a huge overflowing tankard in the other. "Say where ye'll place it 'n th' first t' miss is th' loser."

Clint was directed to stand approximately seven and a half feet from the wall, similar to Darts. He wouldn't be surprised to find that the game began around this time. Flipping the knife to grasp the blade, Clint chose a target. Wiggling his thumb, he said, "A thumb's distance from th' end o' th' lance."

And before anyone could object or agree, Clint took his stance, drew his left arm back and let fly. The handle vibrated at the strength of the throw. With confidence, Clint, with Gilroy and Tavish in tow, walked to the target, Clint placing his thumb to the right of the blade to show that his aim had been true. With a nod from Tavish, who was acting as a sort of referee, the men retreated to the throwing line.

"Tip o' the beast's nose." Gilroy took his stance, sloppy according to SHIELD standards, aimed and threw. He too hit exactly where he said.

This went on for twenty minutes, both men evenly matched until Gilroy, annoyed that Clint hadn't once fumbled, suggested, "What say we make this a wee bit more interestin'."

"I'm game," was Clint's automatic response. He mentally kicked himself for using modern-day slang. Natasha was giving him one of her looks which he returned with a sheepish shrug.

"Each will throw four, one after another," Gilroy touched the spots on the target marked with smaller versions of the shield. From concealment, Gilroy produced three more daggers identical to the first.

Crossing his arms, his best deadpan look in place, Clint said to his opponent, "This bein' th' last round, 'n yer th' Queen's champion, take th' shot."

Taking Clint's courtesy as his due, Gilroy stepped to the throw line, three daggers in his left hand and one in his right. He carefully sighted and threw each blade. Applause followed with lots of back slapping and shouts for refills of ale.

Another man who'd remained quiet throughout the contest came forward, a set of four daggers in his hand, obviously custom made. "I see ye've just th' one. Would ye care t' use mine?"

Clint accepted with a smile and a nod, going to the throw line. He placed all four knives on the end of table to his left. Tavish started forward to remove Gilroy's daggers from the target, stopping when Clint said, "Don't."

"As ye wish," the man said as he returned to his seat.

Rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles, Clint made his preparations for the final showdown. He took a deep breath, let it out then threw the daggers one after the other. When the fourth blade had reached its target, the borrowed daggers were stuck into the wooden shield to the inside of the ones Gilroy had thrown. Then, just to twist the knife so to speak, Clint plucked out both boot knives and stuck one into each of the lances.

Jaws dropped, there was a moment of stunned silence then the room erupted in cheers and applause with Clint being nearly knocked off his feet from the strength of Tavish's back slaps.

Gilroy, however, didn't join in congratulating Clint, choosing instead to make a grand display of poor sportsmanship. His face a mask of rage, Gilroy spun on his heel, retrieved his daggers, and left the tavern without another word.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Crom Gilroy, friend of Tavish

Ainsley McKenna

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 9**

"That was some fine throwin' ye done, Clint," Tavish enthused as he drew Clint over to the table he was sharing with a group of friends. Before he'd even sat down, Griselda and one of the kitchen workers had passed out full tankards of ale. "About time someone give Crom what for."

Lifting the tankard, Clint shrugged modestly. "I got lucky."

"Nonsense. Ye have a great skill, lad. No shame in lettin' it be known. But a word t' th' wise. Ye've not made a friend by bestin' Crom Gilroy, so ye 'n yer wife take care when yer out 'n about." The air of excitement still hummed in the air though the boisterous voices had quieted somewhat. "So what be yer purpose in stoppin' hereabouts?"

"My wife 'n I are lookin' for a place t' settle." Glancing over at Natasha, he saw that she was deep in conversation with their hostess. She sensed him looking her way and returned his grin with a scowl that said they'd be talking later.

"Maybe ye'd consider makin' Laomainn yer home." The smile on Tavish's face turned inquisitive.

"Perhaps."

Another man came to join them, taking a seat next to Clint without invitation or introducing himself. "What clan are ye?"

"None at this time."

With a grin, Tavish slapped the table. "We be allied with Clan DunBroch, if yer lookin' fer someplace t' plant yer roots."

Clint gave Tavish a non-committal reply and returned to Natasha just as Griselda regained her feet with a grunt. "Here now, Tavish. Let them be. Can't ye see they're exhausted from their journey?" To the agents, she said, "When yer ready, I'll show ye t' yer room."

Giving a weary sigh, Natasha pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm ready now, thank ye."

Another man came to the table and it wasn't difficult for the agents to figure out that they were being given the once over by what passed for law enforcement in this town. "Have ye stabled yer horses at Macduff's?"

"We walked most of th' way from th' last village. Angus McDonald gave us a ride th' rest o' th' way."

Tavish pushed back from the table and got to his feet. "Then ye'll be wantin' a good night's sleep before explorin'. Macduff'll fix ye up with horses t' take ye around."

Clint nodded and together, he and Natasha followed Griselda up the stairs and down a dim hallway. She opened the last door on the right going in ahead of them.

"Extra blankets 'n such in th' wardrobe. Th' garderobe's down th' hall. Th' mornin' meal's at seven. If ye need anythin', just ask." Griselda went to the door, pausing with a hand on the knob. "I hope ye find Laomainn t' yer likin' 'n decide t' stop fer good."

With those parting words, she closed the door, leaving Clint and Natasha alone. He was wondering just what to say or do to keep this from being awkward, giving it up as a bad idea when Natasha stripped out of her dress then sat on the side of the bed to remove her boots. Taking that as a cue, he did the same, tossing his pants, shirt and vest over the back of a chair, leaving on the T-shirt and boxers he just couldn't go without.

The bed was a double. Not enough room for them to maintain a respectable distance from each other, but if she could put her emotions aside, so could he. Before getting into bed, Clint put out the oil lamp on the dresser as well as the one on the bedside table.

Lifting the covers, he lay down, closed his eyes waiting for Natasha to get comfortable. Eventually, she stopped shifting in the bed and appeared to go to sleep. He followed a short time later.

~~O~~

Facing the wardrobe, Natasha knew the moment Clint fell asleep. She waited another ten minutes according to her internal clock before slipping out of bed.

Just to reassure herself, she opened the sack she carried, reaching into the secret compartment and taking out a device about double the size of a glucometer, a portable DNA tester. Again, she went over the instructions that the SHIELD doctor had given her for its use. All she needed was a sample of hair with the root attached. Less is good. More is better. Blood and spit worked well too.

Replacing the tester in her sack with a sigh, Natasha sat in the armchair with her legs curled under. With the underskirt covering her feet, she watched Clint sleeping, wishing that things were different. That _she_ was different. If she'd had nurturing parents while growing up instead of a guardian who withheld approval and affection as a way to manipulate her and the other girls then she wouldn't be here now. She wouldn't have been involved with the invasion and she wouldn't have a child. Or rather she _would_ have a child. Just not with Clint.

Ever since the proposal, tension had vibrated between them. While she pretended that it didn't bother her, it did. And when she looked at him now, she felt something though she wasn't sure what. Examining that change now brought her to the realization that this feeling had been going on for some time, but she had been ignoring it.

Not having experienced real love before, she was at a loss to, as Selvig might say, interpret the data. Not that Clint was much better at it, but at least _he_ was trying. He hadn't yet told her he loved her aside from a sarcastic "Love you, Nat." To which she would respond with "I know."

Now that she felt ready to sleep, Natasha returned to the bed and slowly lay down next to her partner, turning onto her side to face away from him again. In his sleep, he rolled over and spooned her from behind, mumbling words that she didn't understand. Placing her hand on top of Clint's Natasha waited for sleep to claim her.

**Several Hours Later**

Morning came quicker than Natasha had hoped and just as she always did, she awakened before Clint, only today she felt as if she hadn't slept at all. Sometime during the night, Clint had rolled onto his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. Shaking him produced no response as did poking him in the side. As in the past, she resorted to something that never failed to garner a reaction. She carefully pulled up the bottom of his shirt and pressed her hand to his lower back causing him to screech and vault off the bed. "Sonofa*****, your hands are cold!"

Clint caught his clothes she tossed at him, and for some reason she couldn't fathom, he stayed turned away from her while they got dressed.

Natasha tied the laces on the bodice of her dress wishing she could wear pants for walking long distances, but that would attract more attention than just being strangers in town already had.

"We should pick up the weapons," was all Clint said as he replaced his knives in their places of concealment.

Shoving her feet into the boots, Natasha picked up her sack and stood there waiting for Clint who seemed to need more time to dress than she did just this once. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

And before he could answer, she left the room. Clint may have called out to her, but she just kept going until she reached the restaurant, taking a table in the corner hoping to go unnoticed. Griselda saw her and bustled over with a mug and a pot of tea. Cream and sugar were already on the table. "Sun's long been up. Thought ye were goan t' sleep th' day away."

The scent of the fragrant tea reached Natasha making her stomach grumble. "Didn't see anyone until Angus MacDonald gave us a ride so we walked most o' th' way."

Griselda patted Natasha's hand in an overly familiar way that the Russian wasn't used to, but instead of jerking free as she would've in the past, she returned the gesture with a small smile. "I'll bring ye somethin' that'll put ye t' rights good 'n proper."

"Thank ye." Natasha would've said more, but Clint chose that moment to make his appearance.

"Mornin', Griselda."

"Ye slept well, I take it, Master Lockhart?"

Clint grinned and nodded, acting as if he'd had the best night's sleep even though she knew better. "Clint, please. 'N I did indeed. Now I'm so hungry I could eat a bear, provided it doesnae eat me first."

He winked making Griselda laugh out loud. "Yer th' funny one, aren't ya? I'll be back with more tea 'n somethin' hearty t' get ya started on yer day."

And though she didn't feel like laughing, her partner's antics forced a grin and a snort out of her, which she tried to hide behind her hand. He saw and pounced on it. "What _is_ that? No, it can't be." He scooted up close, pulling her hand away and giving her a close examination. "It _is!_ It's a _smile._"

She pushed him away, resisting an eye roll when his other arm slipped around her waist. "You act like you've never seen one before."

"It _has_ been a while." The sparkle of humor in his eyes faded. "Nat, I…"

"Here ye go loves. Some nice hot porridge is just what ye need t' get yer strength back," their hostess announced as she set a steaming bowl in front of each of them.

Griselda's gruff voice interrupted what Clint was about to say, annoying Natasha because she was certain he was going to say something important. He used his "I'm not joking" face. Whatever was on his mind would have to wait until they were alone.

In the weeks since the dig, she got the feeling that he was working up to telling her he loved her, and not just in the best friends and partners way. And when he did finally find the courage to say it, how would she feel? Would she be able to saying it back, even if she didn't feel the same? At this point, she wasn't certain of anything except that she wanted to find Annabelle and get back home as soon as possible.

Clint's warmth against her side eased up and when she glanced to the side, he'd moved a respectable distance from her. It never bothered her before when he did it, but now she missed the closeness.

~~O~~

Getting the sense that Natasha was annoyed with him, Clint put some space between them then picked up his spoon and stirred the grayish slop in his bowl. Since leaving the orphanage, he hated hot cereal. Hoping that a little sweetness would make it more palatable, he spooned sugar into it, stirring until it dissolved then ate a spoonful. Nope. Didn't work, but he ate it anyway because he was hungry.

Griselda refilled the teapot, offering more porridge. Clint and Natasha both declined. When he caught her making a face at the taste of the hot cereal, they shared a sheepish grin that anyone who didn't know them would take for affection. And that's just what they wanted.

Until Annabelle, the two of them had been nothing more than partners and friends, going through life as though nothing could touch them. Believing they'd live forever yet knowing that the possibility existed that they could die at any moment because of the work they did. A fact that had never worried either of them before their daughter came along. Neither of them had wanted children, but fate had taken a hand and given them something-some_one_ to live for besides themselves. He would be damned if he'd let the end come too soon.

"Clint! Natasha!" Tavish bellowed at them as he approached the table. "And how are ye this fine mornin'?"

Clint shook hands with the innkeeper, and almost threw up his breakfast when the man slapped him on the back. "Better after a night's sleep."

Tavish sat down across from the agents, leaning forward as if telling a great secret. "I'm thinkin' ye'll want t' wander about on yer own."

"Th' best way t' get t' know a new place," Clint told him as he pushed the empty bowl away.

It was on the tip of Clint's tongue to tell the innkeeper the real reason they were there. He stopped himself when Natasha touched Tavish on the hand. "Thanks for yer kindness, Tavish. We've been lookin' for a place t' call home for a long time."

To change the subject, Clint asked, "So what goes on here of an evening? Any entertainment?"

"Some. At times a travelin' bard will stop fer a few days 'n we'll give 'em a listen. Just a few months back there was this one young lass with th' voice of an angel like my sainted daughter, Margaret. She's passed on some twenty years hence."

"I'm sorry for yer loss, Tavish." Ignoring Clint's glare, Natasha's eyes sparkled with mischief, "He's no angel, but my Clint can sing 'n play th' lute."

Tavish brightened. "We'd love t' hear…"

Clint interrupted the innkeeper, "'N I'd be happy t' play for ye, but we'd like t' be gettin' t' our explorin', if ye don't mind."

Tavish immediately looked contrite. "Aye. Of course. And mind what I said last night, lad."

Despite what Clint led Natasha to believe, he had read up on the era. It surprised him that Tavish seemed to be treating Natasha as if she were of a much higher station than they'd presented themselves. It could be that the big man sensed her strength and was captivated by it. He also wondered what their new friends would think of the twenty-first century where men and women were equals in every way.

A group of five came in making noise and causing chaos that seemed to be standard operating procedure. Tavish greeted them heartily, laughing and slapping the men on the back while greeting the women with a small bow as he showed them to a table.

Though it wasn't expected, Clint stacked their dishes and set them on the end of the table. He tossed a few coins down to pay for their meal, ushered Natasha out the front door and down the cobblestone street to Macduff's stables. They rented a wagon hooked up to two black and white horses and set about their search for Annabelle. Their plan was to engage as many of the residents as possible in casual conversation where they would carefully question them to get the information they wanted.

Every day they went out. Mostly together, but sometimes separately. Natasha talked to the women and Clint to the men. One such day, Natasha came upon her partner in the village square surrounded by a group of children. He juggled, walked on his hands and performed magic tricks, keeping the children, and their parents, thoroughly entertained, even getting some of them involved in the tricks.

Just like at the library, he was having as much fun as his audience, bringing to mind all the times he had kept Annabelle amused so she wouldn't cry for her mother when Natasha dropped her off at Clint's. For Natasha, it was harder when the crying started as soon as Clint closed the door. The only thing that seemed to work was when she sang to her in Russian.

A small gasp worked its way out of Natasha's throat as the atmosphere of the square changed. She and Clint were being watched. Causally, she left her seat near the blacksmith's shop and made a slow circuit of the square, coming upon Crom Gilroy lurking in a doorway glaring at Clint. Natasha had no doubt the man was plotting revenge for the large serving of humiliation he'd been served the night before.

When he looked her way, she gave him a bland smile just to be friendly and kept walking. As she passed, he grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a stop. Her natural inclination was to take him down, but she curbed her instincts just to hear what he had to say.

"Ye 'n that husband o' yers had better watch yerselves. We dinnae take kindly t' strangers who cause misfortune for good people."

"We're not here t' cause trouble. A home is all we be lookin' for." The flash of anger in the man's eyes spoke of rage out of proportion to the insult received. "My Clint's an exceptionally skilled hunter. Ye cannae blame him fer bestin' ye in th' game when it was Tavish who made th' challenge."

"I won't stand for strangers comin' t' m' home 'n showin' me up in front o' m' friends. Have a care." She was released so abruptly she stumbled. Again, she thought about teaching him a lesson, but that would come later. When she looked again, he was gone. The next she spoke to Clint, she'd tell him what happened, adding her own warning to the one Tavish had given the night before.

Sweeping her eyes over the square, Natasha spied a group of girls Annabelle's approximate age. Working her way to the side of the first one, she engaged the parents in conversation. Her questioning was so subtle that they had no idea of her true purpose.

~~O~~

A few days later, Clint and Natasha had made no headway into finding Annabelle. Their time in Laomainn was growing short and they decided to bring out the big guns: a sanitized version of the truth. Returning to the inn after another day of disappointment, Clint called the innkeeper to his table. "We've not been completely honest with ye, Tavish. Now we need yer help."

"Oh?"

"Aye. The real reason we've come t' Laomainn is t' find our daughter."

Natasha dabbed at her tear-filled eyes. "She was taken from us three years ago 'n we've been lookin' for her since."

Tavish's expression turned grave. "How can I help?"

That was the opening Clint had been waiting for. "We heard tell that Laomainn has many young girls who would be th' age of our Annabelle. We only ask that we be allowed t' speak t' th' families. If there were a way t' see them without causin' trouble…"

"Och, ye shoulda said so at th' start. We'll be havin' a festival in a month's time. Spread th' word, lads. Everyone's commanded t' attend. Bring th' whole family." Tavish's friends headed out at his order with the innkeeper's attention coming immediately back to Clint. "We'd be appreciative if ye'd grace us with a few tunes tonight, me lad. We still have th' lute our sainted daughter played, God rest her soul. Yer welcome t' use it."

Clint inclined his head. "It would be my honor, Tavish."

Outside, the men scattered in all directions, calling out to anyone they came across. Eventually, the voices faded away, leaving a sense of expectation in the air. Eventually, Tavish and Cullen excused themselves leaving Clint and Natasha alone.

Tapping his chin in thought, Clint turned a puzzled expression on his partner. "It's a generous gesture, but we're not gonna be here in a month. And why is he so anxious to help us?"

Natasha looked into her tea cup and found nothing but the dregs. She pushed it away. "You heard him. He knows what it's like to lose a child."

~~O~~

Feeling restless after leaving the inn, Clint borrowed a horse and rode out of town to the place where the weapons were stashed feeling the need to get in a few rounds of shooting at things. The path through forest that ran along the edge of the loch made a perfect obstacle course.

He tied the horse to a tree where he could get water and went to set up. Someone had already placed a few targets, and from the look of things, they were well used. He added to them, taking a couple of hours so that by the time he finished, the sun was overhead. Taking a seat at the loch's edge, he uncapped the waterskin and drank.

The billowing sleeves of the shirt Clint wore kept getting in his way so he took it off, replacing just the vest. It was a little big on him and sleeveless giving him freedom of movement. He climbed a tree just for practice. Looking out over the forest and the loch, he allowed himself to feel a bit of nostalgia for the circus. He set his feet shoulder width apart, bent slightly at the knees and jumped catching hold of a sturdy branch fifteen feet above the ground. He swung back and forth to gain momentum then let go, completing a single flip before landing firmly on the ground. "And the crowd goes wild for the Amazing Hawkeye!"

Going to the horse, Clint jumped onto his back and urged him toward the treeline, picturing the route in his head. Keeping his knees tight he took the bow from over his head, and then dug his heels in to get the beast moving.

The horse leaped into a gallop as Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked, sighted and pulled the string back to the anchor point all in one smooth motion. Up ahead, a piece of wood hung from vines. He hit it dead center and kept on going, steering with his knees.

Placing two arrows between his teeth, he nocked a third, pulled back and released, quickly doing the same for other two. They all hit their targets, more pieces of wood he'd attached to trees on both sides of the trail.

A fallen tree blocked the path, but the horse made the jump easily and kept on going. Next up, he nocked and fired three more arrows. For the last one, he turned and fired back the way he'd just come, hitting a knot where a branch had once been.

Clint hooked the bow over his head again, carefully got his feet under him and stood. They were quickly approaching a low branch that was sure to knock him on his ass. When they were close enough, he grabbed the branch, swung forward and back, flipping himself in the air to land on the branch.

He unslung the bow, turning and firing in several directions in quick succession. The last shot disturbed a small flock of bird perched on the branch above. Leaping to the ground, he ran through the forest, swerving around all obstacles until he reached another fallen tree. He dived over, rolling and coming up on one knee, firing four more arrows.

The thundering of hooves came toward him, the horse returning. Clint climbed a tree on a curve in the path so the horse would have to slow down. He waited for him to pass underneath and jumped to land on the huge animals back. Pulling him to a stop, he patted the muscular neck. "Good boy."

Figuring they could both use a rest, Clint took the return trip on foot in order to retrieve his arrows. He had the knowledge, and the materials to make more could easily be found, but he didn't want to do so if he didn't have to.

Clint had almost reached the field where he'd come into the forest when he sensed someone behind and above him. He walked a few more feet then, in one swift motion, unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, turned and aimed directly at the intruder.

When he saw who it was, the arrow's point dipped toward the ground. Sitting on the branch of a tree approximately twenty feet up was a girl, maybe eleven years old and already in the beginning stages of puberty. Her long curly red hair hung loose around her shoulders, and even in the filtered light of the sun through the trees he could see that her eyes were a crystal blue. She watched him with a wide, curious stare, showing not a bit of fear in coming upon a strange man in the middle of the forest. He released the bow string, but didn't return the arrow to the quiver just yet.

"Hullo. 'N what would ye be doin' with Master Macduff's Roscoe?" She gestured at the horse now chomping on the sweet grass on the side of the path.

"He let me borrow him for th' day." Not sure what the protocol for introductions was for this era, Clint went with what he knew. _Was_ it appropriate to shake hands with a kid? "What're ye doin' in th' tree?"

She shrugged. "I like bein' up high."

"As do I." He decided against offering to shake hands while she climbed down, jumping the last few feet to the ground. "Name's Clint Lockhart. Ye c'n call me Clint."

The girl smiled brightly, her hands moving so that he now noticed that she carried a smaller version of his bow and a well-worn quiver slung across her slender chest. Her clothing was clean and a little big for her, obviously hand-me-downs. "I supposed ye want me t' tell ye _my_ name."

She had a twinkle in her eyes that spoke of great humor. Clint hooked his bow over his head, replaced the arrow in the quiver then shoved his thumbs into his belt. "That's usually how it works."

"M' da says that too." She mirrored his stance, her thumbs hooked into the belt at her waist and that grin telling him she was copying him just for laughs. "'N Mum says I should act more like a lady."

Clint chuckled. "Mums do that. And ye still haven't told me yer name."

One eyebrow twitched upward cheekily. "Ainsley McKenna."

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Margaret Campbell, Griselda and Tavish's daughter, deceased

Crom Gilroy, friend of Tavish

Ainsley McKenna

Cullen, friend of Tavish

Colleen MacDill, seamstress

Del, maker of knives, swords, etc.

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 10**

Natasha picked up their breakfast dishes. "I'll take these to the kitchen and go for a walk."

Clint understood, merely giving her a quick nod before leaving by the front door while Natasha went into the kitchen. Griselda and several young girls were cooking and cleaning. Feeling as if she should do something to thank them, Natasha set the dishes near the washing area. It wasn't a sink, exactly, but served the same purpose. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Och. Ye don't have t' be doin' that. I've got th' girls for th' cleanin' 'n washin' up."

"It's nae trouble. You 'n Tavish have been so kind, us bein' strangers 'n all."

The same caring smile she'd given them on first meeting shone on her face now. "We know what it's like losin' th' one thing yer livin' for. If I didn't have Tavish 'n this inn t' keep my mind from dwellin', I'd've wasted away for th' want o' my Margaret t' be with me again."

"Tell me about her. What was she like?"

"From th' day of her birth, she was th' happiest child one could ever hope for. Even at th' end when th' sickness was at its worst my poor bairn did her best t' keep up th' spirits of those around her. In her last moments, she took my hand 'n said, 'Dinnae worry, Mum. All will be well.' She passed not long after."

Taking Griselda's hand, Natasha gave it a squeeze and let go. "Thank you for understandin'. If ye don't mind, I need t' get some air. I'll just take a walk around th' village."

"Be safe, love."

Outside, Natasha took a few minutes to drink in the sunshine and the atmosphere of Laomainn. The people who lived within the village proper moved about with purpose, intent on the day to day fight for survival that permeated every moment of their lives. The average life span for this area, even in modern times, was less than that of similar industrialized cities in the United Kingdom and Europe. Epidemiologists called it the Glasgow Effect. Lots of theories were presented for the disparity, including vitamin D deficiency, cold winters, higher levels of poverty than the figures suggested, high levels of stress, and a culture of alienation and pessimism. Doctors in the area attribute it to alcohol and drug abuse, and a violent gang culture.

All of which had nothing to do with medieval Scotland. Or not much. Here and now, on average, twenty percent of women died in childbirth and related infections, as much as one third of children died before the age of five. Those that made it out of childhood could expect to live to their middle forties, provided they maintained good health and weren't killed in a war or clan infighting. Women lived approximately five years less than men.

From what she'd seen so far and with few exceptions, these were good, hardworking people. It was sad to think that they would only live to be a few years older than Clint, who would hit the forty-year mark soon-like next year, provided they didn't die and made it back to the future.

Lifting her skirt so it wouldn't drag in the puddles of water and noxious substances, Natasha headed in the direction of the square receiving nods and hellos from nearly everyone she met. She and Clint had been in town a few days, long enough for them to be at least known by sight. Most of the people welcomed them with open arms. Even the families with children Annabelle's age greeted them warmly. Such is what happens when you're adept at subtle interrogation techniques. People didn't even know they were giving up personal information.

Not that it did any good. None of the families they'd talked to would admit to their five-year old daughters being adopted. As there were sparse official records, there was no way to corroborate the information. Natasha wanted to avoid using the DNA analyzer, but it didn't look like they had a choice. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get the samples she needed.

~~O~~

Grinning at the girl, Clint said, "I've heard tales about ye. Thought ye'd be a bit older." He was lying, but didn't think she'd catch on.

Ainsley screwed up her face in mock irritation, planting her small fists into her hips reminding him of Natasha in one of her snits. "I'll be gone twelve soon."

"Well, then happy birthday early." Even to himself, the words said so offhandedly in his century sounded hollow. As if he didn't mean them or hadn't said them in a long time.

"Ye dinnae seem so sure o' yerself."

He shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. Unable to help himself, Clint frowned, remembering his last birthday party before his parents had been killed by a drunk driver. "After my mum 'n da passed, it dinnae seem important anymore."

"Praise be for yer loss, Master Lockhart."

Shrugging, the archer dismissed Ainsley's sympathy. "It was a long time ago. And I've since started celebratin' birthdays somewhat."

"I'm guessin' it's not yer own."

"No. My daughter's. She's gone five this year." Again, Ainsley copied Clint by tucking her hands behind her back, her feet kicking the hem of her skirt as she walked. How she kept from tripping, he couldn't tell.

She looked up at him then back to the path. Up ahead, Clint could see the field. Roscoe had gone ahead and was slurping noisily from the bank of the loch.

"Why dinnae ye bring her?"

Clint's smile faded, replaced by the ever-present sadness at the loss he and Natasha had endured. "She was taken from her mother 'n me several years ago. We've been lookin' for her ever since."

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Ainsley crossed her arms. "Oh, wee lamb."

They walked a few more steps, coming to the tree where Clint had first entered the forest. There were no toxins or trash floating in the loch, making the decision to take his meal from the land an easy one. "Are ye hungry? I was about t' catch lunch."

Now that he'd changed the subject, that bright smile was back showing that Ainsley had dimples with the one on the right just a little deeper than the left.

"I'd be pleased t' share a meal wi' ye."

"If ye'll gather some wood 'n get th' fire started," Clint unslung his bow and pulled out an arrow, "I'll do th' catchin'."

Over an hour later Clint served Ainsley a generous portion of Atlantic salmon. She looked at it suspiciously while taking a sniff. "What's that smell 'n th' bits o' grass?"

"It's nae grass. It's just spices, Ainsley. Fresh mint and rosemary." Using his fingers, Clint shoved a bite of the pink flesh into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "See? Not poisoned." She still seemed doubtful. "How do ye know ye don't like it if ye haven't tried it?"

Working a chunk free, Ainsley picked it up, sniffed it again then popped it in her mouth, her eyes going wide. "Och! That's purely brilliant!"

"Glad you like it." They ate quietly for a few minutes, and then Clint asked, "Are those yer targets in th' forest?"

Ainsley's eyes lit up and that dimple was back. "Some. My da put them up for Brendan, my brother. But himself would rather work th' fields 'n carve wood than shoot a bow. Just as well. He wasnae very good at it." She reverently stroked the bow lying next to her on the grass. "Made this 'n th' arrows for me."

"How long have ye been shootin'?"

Chewing the last bite of her salmon, Ainsley looked up at the sky contemplatively. "Da gave me m' first bow when I was but five, so since then." Dropping her eyes to her lap, she said, "I watched ye before. Ye've nae been t' these woods before, yet ye hit all th' targets. Was it yer da that trained ye?"

Clint got to his knees, using the piece of bark he'd eaten from to smother the fire with dirt and sand. "No. The ones who taught me went by th' names Swordsman 'n Trickshot."

"Must be good with th' bow then."

"Aye. They even gave me a name." He opened then closed his mouth. Something about this young girl made him want to tell her his life story. Probably because he sensed in her someone who would listen and not judge. However, because of her age, he thought it best not to tell her about his less-than-savory past before joining SHIELD. Did they even have circuses here? The festival was close. Hopefully there wouldn't be anyone dressed as clowns. He'd had enough of them. Not that they planned on being here then.

"What's that then?"

"I used t' be known as…" posing as if shooting a bow, Clint deepened his voice, "…the Amazing Hawkeye!" That made Ainsley giggle, and Clint paused for a moment, remembering the first time he heard Annabelle laugh. For one of the few times in his life, he'd almost cried. Lowering his arms, the archer gathered his belongings together, slipping the bow and quiver over his head. "I need to get back t' th' village." He patted the horse's back and the animal lifted his head, staring at Clint while chewing a mouthful of grass. "Would ye care for a ride home?"

"There's nae need. It's nae far 'n I like t' run."

Clint gave the girl a smile and a small bow. "It was very nice meetin' ye, Ainsley."

She giggled again. "It always good t' meet another who loves th' bow as much as I do. Haste ye back, Hawkeye."

Nodding, Clint leapt onto the Roscoe's back, grasped the long mane and dug his heels in. The horse obeyed the unspoken command, Clint steering him onto the road toward town. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Ainsley running in the opposite direction thinking she reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put a finger on whom.

~~O~~

Having followed Lockhart from town, Crom Gilroy watched him with the McKenna girl wondering what her family would think of the scene in front of him. Lockhart hadn't done anything to the girl. Still, Crom took it as his duty to see what Lockhart and his wife were really up to, what had really brought them to Laomainn. So he'd watch and wait. Eventually they'd make a mistake and he'd be there as a witness, then Tavish would send them on their way. And when Lockhart was gone, Crom would once again be the Queen's champion.

After Lockhart and the girl parted company, Crom waited to see what the other man would do, if he would follow her. To his surprise, Lockhart rode in the direction of Laomainn, glanced once over his shoulder then continued on his journey. A few minutes later, Crom mounted his own horse and returned to the crumbling shack he called home, started a fire to heat the remains of the previous days' meal and drank whiskey until he passed out.

~~O~~

That evening, the meal Clint and Natasha shared at the inn was quiet and reflective, each deep in their own thoughts. At least that's what everyone seemed to think. What they were really doing was conversing in ASL about the events of the day. Clint told Natasha about meeting Ainsley and she told him Crom Gilroy was on the warpath. Griselda was in and out, watching them and shaking her head. The innkeeper probably thought they'd had a fight.

Voices were kept low, all about the tournament and upcoming festival. There would be games, feats of strength and entertainment, including music. Their voices dropped to a whisper, the men casting the occasional glance in their direction. Finally, Tavish swaggered over to their table, preferring to stand this time, nodding at each of them. "Natasha. Clint."

Gesturing with his chin, Clint indicated the others. "What would ye 'n yer friends be whisperin' about, Tavish?"

"Ye spoke o' singin' 'n playin' th' lute." Griselda shyly set an old and very well cared for musical instrument on the table in front of Clint. "Care t' grace us wi' a song or two, m' boy?"

Taking Clint's hand, Natasha gave him a smile of encouragement. Squeezing back, he gave her one of his sweetest smiles. "Be glad to."

Turning to face the crowd, Clint played a few chords getting a feel for the instrument. When he'd done that, he cleared his throat. "This first song states the obvious."

_Yo, Yo lads come and listen to me_

_I got the secret for female ecstasy_

_Don't be scared and don't be shy_

_Just watch the girls stare as you walk by_

_Put a bonnet on your head and a kilt on your knee_

_She's gonna say that you look sexy_

_You'll turn their heads and make their hearts melt_

_And all the girls will scream "Real men wear kilts"_

_Real men wear kilts_

_From the East to the West, sea to shining seas_

_No more restrictions, you're gonna feel free_

_Talk with a brogue and dace a Scottish lilt_

_You'll break their hearts with a swing of your kilt_

Tavish and his fellows roared with laughter, pounding their hands and tankards on the tables in lieu of clapping. Never having heard this song before, Natasha found herself laughing and clapping along as well. Especially at Clint's antics. He jumped up to stroll around the room, stopping to nudge Griselda and nod at Tavish. The older woman giggled and pushed him away. The song ended with a fast strum and two quick chords. The applause, fueled by alcohol, was thunderous. There were shouts of "More!" and "Play another!"

Clint whispered in Tavish's ear, the big man chuckled and nodded. Calling Griselda over, he had a short conversation with her that sent her scurrying into the kitchen. Moments later, the three maidens from the kitchen scampered out the front door. Tavish took a long draft of ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the tankard down. He looked a Clint and belatedly, Clint did the same with the tankard pushed into his hands by Cullen, and as Tavish did before him, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, however, unlike Tavish, he then wiped that hand on the side of his pants. He strummed a couple of chords as he walked to the middle of the room. "This one's better sung with th' room cleared o' th' younger womenfolk."

_A dragon has come to our village today.  
We've asked him to leave, but he won't go away.  
Now he's talked to our king and they worked out a deal.  
No homes will he burn and no crops will he steal._

Now there is but one catch, we dislike it a bunch.  
Twice a year he invites him a virgin to lunch.  
Well, we've no other choice, so the deal we'll respect.  
But we can't help but wonder and pause to reflect.

Do virgins taste better than those who are not?  
Are they salty, or sweeter, more juicy or what?  
Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot?  
Do virgins taste better than those who are not?

Now we'd like to be shed you, and many have tried.  
But no one can get through your thick scaly hide.  
We hope that someday, some brave knight will come by.  
'Cause we can't wait around 'til you're too fat to fly.

Now you have such good taste in your women for sure,  
They always are pretty, they always are pure.  
But your notion of dining, it makes us all flinch,  
For your favorite entrée is barbecued wench.

_Do virgins taste better than those who are not?  
Are they salty, or sweeter, more juicy or what?  
Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot?  
Do virgins taste better than those who are not?_

Now we've found a solution, it works out so neat,  
If you insist on nothing but virgins to eat.  
No more will our number ever grow small,  
We'll simply make sure there are no virgins at all!

_Do virgins taste better than those who are not?  
Are they salty, or sweeter, more juicy or what?  
Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot?  
Do virgins taste better than those who are not?_

The song started out slow through the verses, picking up for the chorus and the big finish. Again rafters shook with laughter and applause. Natasha wasn't at all embarrassed by the song, not even considering that it was more than a little racy for the era.

While the men plied Clint with more alcohol, Natasha sipped her tea and watched. He insisted that he didn't miss the circus or performing, yet here he was proving himself a liar.

She started to get up, thinking she'd go to their room where she could be alone for a while. On a walk through the village, she met and was introduced to a number of children, among them more than a few red haired girls Annabelle's age. She managed to get hair samples from a few of them and wanted to run the DNA tonight while their names and faces were still fresh in her mind.

The next song Clint sang was nothing like the others. It was slow with a gentle rhythm that could lull a child to sleep or lead a woman to believe that she was really and truly loved, no matter what life put them through. But it was the final lines that sent Natasha running up the stairs to their room.

_If the stars up in the heavens  
Keep on shining clear and bright,  
I'll still be loving you,  
No matter what goes right.  
No matter what goes right,  
I'll still be loving you;  
No matter what goes right,  
I will stand by you._

_And when couples fight their troubles,  
It unites their hearts,  
When the good times roll,  
they can drift apart;  
I'll still be loving you  
No matter what goes right.__  
_

~~O~~

Clint saw Natasha leave, knowing better than to follow. He turned down requests to do another song and spent the next several hours telling tall tales with the men while Griselda kept their tankards filled.

Long after midnight, Clint declared, "'Ss time for me t' take m' ash t' bed. Ssshee ya in th' mornin', boys." He took two steps, belched loudly and fell to the floor where he lay snoring.

Tavish stood up, shambled over to Clint where Cullen and another fellow helped their friend get Clint over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Come along, lad." At the top of the stairs, he tried the door to the room Clint shared with Natasha, but it was locked. "Looks like yer lady love'd rather spend th' night by herself. We'll just put ye in here."

Opening the door across the hall, Tavish unceremoniously dumped Clint on the bed. He put out the lamp and quietly closed the door on a loud snore.

The morning dawned sunny and cloudless, much to Clint's annoyance. He covered his eyes with a hand as his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Feeling around, he found the cup of tea Griselda had given him, wishing he could mainline strong coffee…and get his hands on a pair of dark glasses. The bowl of porridge Griselda had set in front of him and he pushed away in disgust was now cold and the consistency of wet cement.

He poured himself another cup of tea and was bringing it to his lips when Tavish slapped him on the back, bellowing, "Clint, me lad! Isn't it a _grand_ mornin'?"

Resisting the urge to slug the innkeeper, Clint just groaned. "Please, Tavish. Not so loud."

"What be yer problem?" The big man peered closer at Clint. "Ach! Hell slap it intae ye if ye can't take a night o' ale wi' th' lads!"

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever," Clint muttered under his breath. _Misery loves company, my ass!_

Griselda slapped her husband on the shoulder. "Tavish! Leave th' lad alone. Can't ye see he's pure done in? Go on t' th' chemist 'n gi' him a remedy."

With one more slap on the back, Tavish left Clint to wallow in his misery alone. Though everything hurt from his knees to the ends of his hair, Clint let his mind wander back to when he woke up and found he wasn't in the room with Natasha. The relief he felt almost made him vomit, but he managed to hold on to what little food was in his stomach. After getting falling down drunk- literally- Clint was concerned that he might've said something to her that he would later regret.

Though it felt like just a few minutes, it had to have been much longer by the time Tavish reappeared through the front door of the tavern. The innkeeper set a small bottle on the table within easy reach. Clint looked at it. "What's that?"

"Somethin' t' ease th' pain, lad. Drink up, 'n ye'll be better in two shakes."

Tavish obviously didn't trust Clint to do as he was told, if left to his own devices, so he stayed until Clint took the stopper from the bottle and downed the contents in one gulp. The taste was bad but not bad enough to make his vomit. "As bad as it tastes, it better work."

"Aye, it will, 'n when yer feelin' less puny, we'll go down t' Colleen MacDill's t' fit ye with a kilt for th' comin' festival."

_Kilt?!_ "Uh, that won't be…"

"Nonsense, lad. Ye'll be wantin' t' show off that Scottish swagger fer th' festival, 'n what better way t' do it then in th' clan tartan."

And that's how Clint found himself in the seamstress's shop an hour later, standing on a stool while Colleen MacDill measured and pinned plaid material on him.

As soon as he could, Clint escaped Colleen's tender mercies, but Tavish seemed determined to keep the archer occupied while showing him around the village. He led the way to a shop out behind the smithy where a bent and wizened man made knives, spears, lances, biodags, daggers of all sizes and shapes. Some were plain, meant for every day. Others were more ornate for special occasions.

"Del, me lad. I've brought my new friend Clint t' see ye. He's in need of a sgian-dubh fer th' festival."

Sliding off of the stool, Del motioned for the men to follow him. On the far wall, an extensive display of knives greeted Clint's eyes. His mouth literally started to water at the thought of handling one of the ancient-to him-weapons. The old man saw his eyes light up and took advantage of it.

"Ye look like a man what knows his blades." He took down one that had a handle with a sapphire blue stone in the end. Over all, it was about eight inches long. "This be made from a ram's horn. Th' creature were in a fight with another what wanted t' mate with his female."

"So this belonged to the loser?"

The old man wheezed with laughter. "Och, nae. He's th' _winner_."

Clint took the blade, examining it from all angles and testing the weight and balance. It was almost perfect. He turned so the light coming in the window flickered and flashed off the stone and the metal. Flipping it so he was holding the blade, Clint glanced around the room. "Where do ye want it, Del?"

The older man nodded. Clint drew his left arm back and threw. The knife landed exactly where Del indicated: in the wall next to a statue of a bear. Turning back to the knife maker with a grin, he said, "That works."

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Annabelle Barton-Romanoff

Tavish Campbell, owner of The Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Griselda Campbell, Tavish's wife

Crom Gilroy, Tavish's friend

Cullen, Tavish's friend

Colleen MacDill, seamstress

Del, knives, swords, etc.

Aileen, works at the inn

Dolina, works at the inn

Maidie, works at the inn

Director Nick Fury, SHIELD

Commander Maria Hill, SHIELD

Dr. Eric Selvig

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's mother

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's brother

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's sister

Duncan, Ainsley's friend

Cawley, Ainsley's friend

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 11**

**Two Days Later**

After getting dressed for the walk down to the communal bath, Natasha followed Griselda's directions and soon found herself in the one part of the inn she'd never seen. The older woman had already submerged herself in the hot water. Also in the bath were the three girls who helped out in the kitchen and a few other women, but no men. Without a shred of modesty, Natasha removed her clothing and stepped into the huge tub that looked more like an indoor pool.

"Good day, Natasha."

Sinking into the water up to her neck, Natasha gave them a smile of greeting. "Good day, Griselda. Ladies."

The three girls, Aileen, Dolina and Maidie, giggled as they always did when Natasha called them "ladies." At least they'd quit averting their eyes every time the agent looked at them. They could also have been mismatched triplets, with the similar hairstyles, fair skin and wearing identical dresses each day that were probably a uniform. But today was Sunday and the inn was closed.

Natasha had peeked in the kitchen on the way, and from the looks of things, they'd been cooking all night in preparation for the day of rest. "Will anyone be joining us?"

Griselda stood up, the water sliding down her plump and wrinkled body, reaching for the soap. "There be a festival comin' soon, and himself's taken Clint off t' get a kilted up fer th' occasion."

"That's grand. I should get somethin' special t' wear myself." Though Natasha knew they wouldn't be here for the festival, she had to put up a front.

"Colleen MacDill's th' one ye want t' see. The woman can stitch up a dress or kilt in just a few days. She's even made for Queen Eleanor and Princess Merida."

Smiling, Natasha splashed water over her shoulders. "Whatever yer makin' smells wonderful."

Pleased that Natasha had brought it up, Griselda enthused about the dishes being prepared and what they would be serving at the festival. With only a few words of encouragement now and then, Griselda kept the conversation going on her own, Natasha only saying enough to be considered polite.

Eventually, the girls joined the conversation changing the subject to the young men they hoped might ask their fathers' blessings to begin courting them. That brought their attention back to Natasha. Dolina moved through the water to Natasha's side. "Mistress Lockhart, we were wonderin'…"

From the girl's shy smile, Natasha knew what she was trying to ask. "You want to know how I met my husband."

From across the bath, Aileen called out, "Aye, Miss. Tell us about yer betrothal. How did ye choose him from th' others?"

"Well, where I'm from, marriages haven't been arranged for many years." That earned her a gasp of surprise. She'd made inquiries and found that quite recently, Clan DunBroch, led by King Fergus, had agreed to allow their young ones to find love on their own rather than being forced into a marriage one or both parties may not want or be ready for. Deciding on a sanitized version of the first time she and Clint had met, she began her story. "I first saw Clint at a clan gathering t' celebrate th' king's birthday. He was standing alone savorin' a glass of wine he'd stolen from th' king's private reserve."

"'N ye fell in love with him on first sight?" Maidie's eyes were dreamy at the prospect.

"Nae. We dinnae even like each other." _Lie!_ Natasha's conscience reminded her. "The occasion of our next meetin' was much different. That day, I'd gone t' th' marketplace. As I was walkin' through th' center o' th' village, I heard someone followin' me 'n when I turned, there be Clint, smilin' like he'd won first prize at th' caber toss."

Dolina rubbed soap over her arms, shoulders and upper back while casting the occasional glance at Natasha. "What did yer mum 'n da think o' him?"

"Och, they was furious! His too. Us bein' from rival clans 'n all. Our fathers even forbade us t' have anything t' do with each other."

Griselda, quiet during Natasha's story, interjected. "'N that charmer convinced ye t' run away with him."

"That was m' own idea." She gave them a coy smile. "Dinnae take much convincin' though. Our Annabelle was born within th' year." The smile faded, Natasha dropping her gaze to the bubbles floating on top of the water. "Not long after th' age o' two is when she was taken from us."

"'N right sad we are about it." The innkeeper walked to the steps and climbed out of the bath, Natasha and the girls following her lead. "I'm sure ye'll have her t' ye again soon."

"I hope so. It's been hellish without her." The girls expressed their sympathy as well while they dressed, Natasha in a huntress's tunic and long pants she tucked into the tops of her boots. "Do ye be needing some help in the kitchen? I'm not much of a cook, but I can do th' washin' up, if need be."

Griselda tugged on the ends of the laces that ran up the front of her dress and tied them off. "That'd be wonderful. With th' Queen's festival comin' up, we'll be cookin' night 'n day."

Natasha followed the women to the kitchen where Griselda set her to cutting up vegetables.

~~O~~

Though he'd known the customs of this era before making the trip, it still bugged Clint that he was expected to take a communal bath with Tavish, Cullen and their pals from the inn. The other men had no qualms about stripping down and getting into the water. Clint, trying not to show hesitation, did the same, getting out as soon as was considered polite stating that he had errands to run. He was relieved when they accepted his lame excuse.

Instead of returning to the inn, Clint decided that he needed to take a long run to clear his mind even though it meant another bath. When he reached the outskirts of the village, he removed his shirt and vest, stuffing them behind a bush where they wouldn't be seen. Keeping his starting point in mind, he took off at a slow pace, slowing building up to his usual speed.

**Present**

On any given day, the bridge of the helicarrier was a hive of activity. Except for today. The boat was dry-docked and manned by only a skeleton crew while routine maintenance and repairs were done. As her captain, Fury felt it his duty to oversee everything. While the work commenced, he decided to get caught up on reports, not expecting to be interrupted. The door chimed and without looking up from the computer, he addressed the air. "Enter."

Hill entered and waited patiently for his attention. When he looked up, she said, "Selvig called. He needs to see you at the compound ASAP, sir." She paused. Something she seldom did. "It's not good news."

"And you know this _how_, Agent Hill?"

"Because he said, 'the news is not good'. It was the emphasis on _not_ that gave it away, sir."

Getting to his feet, Fury reached for the leather jacket that hung over the back of his chair. "Get me a helijet."

"Already done, sir."

Without responding, Fury left the bridge, striding quickly out onto the deck and up the ramp of a helijet already idling and ready for takeoff. A half hour later, he landed atop the SHIELD compound roof. Ordering his co-pilot to stay put, he jogged to the roof access and descended to the lab level with his arms crossed and words he shouldn't say in mixed company running through his brain like wild animals. With that out of his system, he could speak to Selvig and his people calmly.

Striding into the lab, he spotted Selvig deep in conversation with several of his team. "Talk to me, doctor."

"Director, thank you for coming so quic-"

Fury waved his hand to stop the small talk. "Just get to the point."

Gesturing for Fury to follow, Selvig led him to the network's main computer. The information that was displayed there made little sense to the spy and Selvig knew it. Hence, why he immediately launched into the bottom line. "We won't be able to get it working in time for the seven-day window for retrieving Agents Romanoff and Barton. Or rather we will, but they won't be able to enter at that time."

"That window is now down to four days, and you're telling me they won't be able to come home?"

"No, sir. The damage from the power surge was more extensive than we thought. All of the integrated circuits will have to be replaced, tested, diagnostics done and more tests."

Spreading his hands out as if the answer were obvious, the SHIELD director said, "So replace them."

"We did. Or as many as we could. R&D is still in the process of recreating the remaining circuits and are steadfastly refusing to hand over those they've completed until they have a full set of back-ups, just in case."

"I'll have a talk with them myself."

Selvig's relief was evident in the heavy sigh he expelled. "Thank you, sir."

Just by his tone and attitude, Fury gave the impression of preparing for battle though the only part of him that changed was his eye. "That won't be a problem, doctor. Just be ready to start the device when the appropriate window is reached. And don't let anyone trip over the cables this time."

On the ride to R&D, Fury brought Selvig's report on the incident with the device and subsequent blackout of the tri-state area to mind. No one on the team would admit to having been the one to cause it to explode. There was also no way to know if Clint and Natasha had reached their destination intact, dead or not at all. All they could do is hope.

Swiping his card then submitting to the retinal scan, Fury opened the door to R&D calling out to the department head bent over a table working on something that looked like a collection of wires and microchips. To the woman, Fury said, "Dr. Mornay, I'd like a few words with you."

She turned to face him, her dark eyes blinking behind a pair of safety goggles making her look like a tall skinny Indian bug, and then returned to work. "Make it quick, Director. We're very busy."

Holding onto his temper with difficulty, Fury crossed his arms. "Now, doctor. Unless you'd rather talk about how difficult it will be for you to find another job after funding for your department is terminated."

Startled and trying not to show it, Mornay again turned her bug-eyed stare on Fury. "That won't be necessary, Director. What can I do for you?"

Fury smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. "I'm so glad you asked…"

**Scotland**

**Late 1600s**

Returning from his run, Clint put his vest on, draped his shirt over Roscoe's back and mounted up for the ride to the loch. There was no way he'd get into another communal bath with anyone but Natasha, and they were still back and forth on that issue. It was a time management thing. Sometimes he loved her and sometimes she seemed to love him. If only they could be in love at the same time then his life, and hers, would be less complicated. Or did being in love mean _more_ complications? At this exact moment, he wasn't sure of anything.

His thoughts about Natasha came to a screeching halt when the little voice inside his head told him he was being watched. It was the same yet different from the sensation he'd gotten when Ainsley had been watching him from her perch in the tree. Then, he hadn't sensed danger, just curiosity and openness to new experiences that most young people her age possessed.

This was more like that feeling you get watching a horror flick when you know that the prom queen or the captain of the football team is about to be chopped into little bite-sized pieces. Someone was watching and waiting. Biding their time for what? The only person he'd pissed off recently besides his partner was that Gilroy character. He'd accosted Natasha the next day, but hadn't been seen by either of them since.

And because whoever it is hasn't seen fit to show themselves Clint made the decision for them. At the loch, he tied Roscoe near the water then pulled off his vest, hanging it and the shirt over a low branch while whistling off-key. And just as he predicted, running footsteps came at him through the dry underbrush. His would-be attacker didn't care that he might be heard or just wasn't good at being quiet.

When his stalker got close enough, Clint ducked to the side and spun around. He wasn't surprised to see Crom Gilroy. The knife Gilroy had thrown narrowly missed stabbing him in the back, and Clint smelled the familiar-and expected-odor of stale alcohol. He spun on his left foot, a dagger appearing in his left hand as if by magic vowing to use it only for defense. If he killed someone while here in the past, the repercussions could be devastating. He and Natasha could return to their present only to find out that the death of one drunken ass**** had completely changed history. Or they might not get back at all.

Concentrating on the fight, Clint shouted, "What the hell are you doing, Gilroy?"

"Ye took from me 'n I'll not stand by while ye do it t' others."

"What did I take from you?"

Gilroy's blade whooshed through the air in a way the other man no doubt thought was menacing. For Clint, it gave him insight into the man's fighting style. "M' title of Queen's champion."

"That was just a friendly game."

With a cry of rage, Gilroy surged toward him, the blade of his dagger slicing through the air and missing its mark. Though he watched every move Clint made, he still managed to spit out, "Until that night, I was th' Queen's champion these last seven years."

Scoffing, Clint easily deflected and attempt at an overhead strike. "And you still _are_. Who's gonna tell her? Not me and certainly not you. Go to the Queen's birthday bash and be the winner. I've no interest in being the Queen's _anything_."

"I dinnae believe ya! Ye've embarrassed me in front o' our village leaders 'n my friends. They won't soon forget."

Bored with the conversation, Clint spiced it up by employing an old trick. He let himself be tripped, landing on his back and the dagger sailing out of reach. If Gilroy had been sober, he might've thought Clint's fall rather convenient, but the man was drunk and beyond reason.

The gleam in Gilroy's eyes brightened at what he perceived as a sure victory. When he was close enough, Clint knocked the other man's feet from under him, wincing when he landed hard enough to rattle his teeth. He lay there moaning, semi-conscious, not putting up the smallest protest when Clint used his belt to tie him up.

_Guess it's the public bath again. Maybe I'll get lucky and have it to myself._

Clint put on his vest, retrieved his dagger from a pile of leaves then tossed Gilroy over the back of the horse and walked back toward town.

~~O~~

In the bakery, Natasha was talking with several of the local women carefully questioning them about the children in the area, again coming up empty. More and more it looked like she would have to find a way to get DNA samples to get the information she needed, and time was running out. They only had a few days left before Selvig opened the portal.

The noise of wagon wheels riding over the cobblestone, the ringing of the hammer from the blacksmith's shop, voices calling to one another, the laughter of children all made Natasha feel as if she could live here forever. If what Dr. Higgins had found at the dig site is where their story was headed then she and Clint were destined to be stranded in a time that was not their own. But she refused to give up. They would find their daughter and return to their own time. Clint said so and with such conviction that she wanted to believe even in the face of empirical proof.

The little voice inside popped her head up, suddenly showing interest in their surroundings. _But if the artifact at the dig really was Clint's recurve bow, you've already changed history because he left it behind._

_That's true_, the other half of her brain answered. _So what does that mean? That we're stuck here?_

All the little voice did was shrug her imaginary shoulders meaning she would have to get the answers from a more knowledgeable source than herself or Clint. Unfortunately, astrophysicists were rare in this era.

One of the ladies offered her a taste of the bread that had just come out of the oven. It was soft, hot and light as a feather. And would go perfectly with the stew Griselda was making for the evening meal. Fishing in her leather pouch, she pulled out several coins. "Could I…"

From the street just outside the front door, Natasha heard a cry of pain followed by shouts of alarm. She rushed outside, pushing her way through the gathering crowd. "Out of the way!"

On the ground lay a young girl with long red hair, blood trickling from her forehead. Tears welled up in her blue eyes but didn't fall as she pushed herself upright.

"What happened?" Natasha demanded as she knelt beside the girl.

One of the other children standing around and watching with the adults, said, "It were an accident, Miss. Me 'n Duncan was playin' 'n Ainsley fell."

Boys were sometimes a little too rough, even with girls who were their equal in skill. "What's yer name, lad?"

The boy scuffed his toe in the dirt, obviously reluctant to provide the information. One of the adults poked him in the back and he finally said, "Cawley, Miss."

"She's goin' t' be fine, Cawley. Just be careful henceforth." They were truly sorry for their actions, and her anger shrank in on itself. Standing, she brought the girl up with her. "What's yer name, love?"

"Ainsley McKenna, Miss. I'm here with m' mum 'n da t' sell in th' market."

Smiling gently, Natasha led her back to the inn. "I'm Natasha Lockhart, Ainsley. 'N I'll have ye fixed up in two shakes." She put Ainsley in a chair as far from the customers as she could, calling out, "Dolina! I need hot water and clean towels."

The two boys who'd caused the girl's injury had trailed them and were n ow standing outside peering in the window. Ainsley saw and sighed. "Cawley and Duncan dinnae mean t' hurt me, Miss. It were the fault o' this cursed dress. Most o' m' clothes was handed down from m' sister Winifred 'n they be a wee bit too big. Mum wanted t' sew them, but she'd just have t' do it again when I grow some so she let it be."

"I can see that ye'd want t' save her the work, but it'll do ye no good if ye break yer neck because of it." Dolina set a bowl of water and towels on the table and scurried back to the kitchen. Touching Ainsley's chin, Natasha tilted the girl's head into the light so she could see. "Let's have a look then."

Aileen and Dolina came out to watch as Natasha methodically cleaned the area then placed a folded piece of dry cloth over the wound. "Hold it tight until I tell you to stop." To Aileen, she said, "Go find Ainsley's parents 'n bring them here. Tell them she was injured, but it's not serious. Dolina, stay with Ainsley."

Holding the dress high, Natasha ran out to the garden, gathered several leaves from one particular plant and returned to the tavern. Taking the cloth from Ainsley's head, she broke the leaves, laid them on the cloth and had the girl hold it again. A few minutes later, Natasha peeled the cloth away, removed the bloodied leaves and tilted Ainsley's head up again so she could see that the injury had stopped bleeding. She cleaned up the rest of the blood and set the towel aside. "That's done it."

Blinking up at her and smiling, the girl asked, "Miss, are ye a physician?"

"Nae. Where I come from, we use roots, seeds, herbs, bark, flowers 'n berries to treat minor injuries 'n illnesses. It's called herbal healing. My Clint is always gettin' hurt one way or another when we're nae close t' a physician, so I've learned a thing or two on m' own as well."

For some reason, that made the girl laugh. Impulsively, she hugged Natasha. Hesitating a brief moment, Natasha returned the gesture, pulling away just as Edeen McKenna arrived. The woman rushed to her daughter's side. Hugging the girl, she almost moaned, "Ye gave me a fright, child."

"I'm _fine_, Mum. Mistress Lockhart fixed me up good 'n proper. 'N she's nae a physician. She be an…"

"Herbalist." That Natasha could treat minor injuries seemed almost like magic to the girl, and it made her smile. "Natasha Lockhart."

"Edeen McKenna, Miss. Thanks be t' God ye were close by."

Uncomfortable with the praise, Natasha said to Ainsley, "Goan with ye now, child. Just keep it clean so it'll heal properly. Three days at least."

At the door, Ainsley turned to wave with a big smile, and it made Natasha's breath catch to see the dimples, the one on the right a little deeper than the left. Strange, but in that moment, the girl reminded her of Clint. Dismissing the notion, Natasha picked up the bowl and soiled towels, carrying them to the kitchen. Griselda protested, but Natasha insisted on washing the bowl herself. She set the clean dish upside down to dry then carried the towels into the laundry room. Returning to the kitchen, Natasha washed her hands again then tied an apron around her waist. "What can I do t' help?"

Huffing, Griselda carried a basket of vegetables over to the only table not being used and set it down. "If ye could cut up these I'd be grateful."

"Of course." Wishing there was music playing to help pass the time, Natasha picked up a long knife and began chopping the vegetables to the sizes she'd seen the others do. An hour later, there was a commotion in front of the tavern. She heard Clint's voice and went to investigate. Griselda and the girls were curious as well, the five women reaching the tavern entrance just as Cullen and another man placed an unconscious Crom Gilroy into the back of a wagon. The men climbed aboard and rode off down the street.

A crowd had gathered and Tavish sent them on their way. "Goan with ye now. No more t' see."

While Clint and Tavish had a short whispered conversation, Natasha took in how he was dressed. His long sleeved shirt with the billowy sleeves was gone leaving his chest covered with the brown leather vest. The pants he wore were black and his knife was displayed in its sheath touching the outside of his left thigh. The overall look made him appear dangerous and sexy at the same time, and it nearly took her breath away.

_Why haven't you noticed how hot he was before now?_ her little voice asked with a snicker.

Her other voice reminded her, _You did, but didn't want to._

Silently telling both voices to shut it, Natasha turned her attention to Clint as he came to her side, the look on his face told her there'd been a problem. "What happened?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Clint exhaled loudly. "Gilroy tried to ambush me. Hopefully, I taught him a lesson, but don't count on it."

"Where's your belt?"

"Used it to tie the SOB up so he wouldn't try to stab me again." He turned away when Roscoe whinnied. "I gotta take him back then off to get another bath. Wanna share?"

He gave Natasha a lascivious wink, snorting when she leaned close to say, "_Ebanashka._" Clint took hold of the horse's reins leading him away from the inn. Hands on her hips, Natasha watched him go shaking her head and grinning.

The tavern would be open for the evening meal and Natasha remembered the bread she'd wanted to purchase. Walking back to the bakery, the sweetness of some sort of dessert hung in the air. As she came to the marketplace, she saw Ainsley and her mother in a stall with a man examining Ainsley's injury. He spoke to the girl who rolled her eyes and evaded his attempt to hug her. _Not much changes, does it?_ Natasha thought. _Kids are still kids, even in our time._

The girl spoke to her mother then scampered away. Natasha tracked her progress across the square to the opposite side where she climbed up the side of a two-story building to sit on the balcony with her legs hanging over the side. She watched everything below with a curious intensity that unsettled Natasha though she wasn't sure why.

Making her way through the crowds, Natasha looked up at her, using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare. "Hullo, Ainsley."

"Oh, hullo again, Miss."

"What are ye doin' up there instead o' playin' with yer friends?" Ainsley exhaled loudly, obviously annoyed and Natasha guessed that she'd been asked the same thing more than a few times.

"Cawley 'n Duncan have gone t' their homes." She shrugged one shoulder up then down in a way that was very familiar to Natasha, but before it could become a fully formed thought, Ainsley added, "I just like watchin' everything. 'N I c'n see better from a distance."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Del, makes knives, swords, etc.

Aileen, works for Griselda

Dolina, works for Griselda

Macduff, stables

Unnamed boy, stable hand

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 12**

The voices of the crowd faded, replaced by a ringing and dizziness in Natasha's ears that drown out everything other sound so that all she heard were the bells and Ainsley's voice repeating one of Clint's favorite phrases. She was jostled by people trying to get past though she barely felt it. After a while, her hearing returned and with it, the ability to move. She had to find Clint.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she raced for the inn. As she passed the stables, she heard Clint's voice, changed direction, skidding to a stop in the doorway of Roscoe's stall. He dropped the brush and rushed to her.

~~O~~

Clint waved to Macduff as he led Roscoe into his stall. A young boy came running with the tools necessary to groom the beast, and Clint sent him on his way saying he'd do it himself. The boy seemed disappointed so he gave him a coin. The boy thanked him and ran to bring fresh hay and water to keep Roscoe happy while Clint removed the bridle and brushed him. He was just getting to the tail when Natasha's voice called out to him. And for one of the few times since he'd known her, she sounded excited to the point of breathlessness.

She stumbled into the stall gripping his arms, nails digging into his biceps. "Clint!"

"Nat, calm down and talk to me." The creak of a stall door opening reminded them that they weren't alone so Clint switched to Russian. "What's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, she got herself under control well enough to speak. "Our daughter! I've found her! But she's not _five_, Clint. She's older. Eleven or twelve."

"What?!" His stomach to flip over and his breathing, stalled for a moment then returned. "Dammit it to hell! This is _Selvig's_ fault!"

"Does it really matter, Clint? We're here. _She's _here."

Clint embraced her and they held each other tight. After a long while, they separated. "I _have_ to see her."

Taking his hand, Natasha led him to the square, looking around and pointing. "There."

As he stared at the young girl, she got to her feet, swung one leg then the other over the railing and climbed down to the ground with a nimbleness that was uncanny. "_That's_ the girl from the other day. Ainsley something." Clint rubbed both hands down his face, pacing restlessly two steps away and back. "Oh, God! We talked for over almost _two hours! _ How could I not _see_ it?"

Natasha massaged her forehead as if a headache were coming on. "You couldn't have known. We've been looking for a little girl, not a young woman."

"Seven _years_, Nat. Selvig's calculations were off by _seven_ _years_. All this time we've been looking in the wrong ******* place." Clint slammed a fist into the fence. "When we get back, I'm gonna knock his ******* head off!"

He simmered in his own bile for a while then said, "Now that we _know_ it's her, I can see it. The only way to be absolutely certain is to do a DNA test. But how do we…"

Natasha made a small gasp, again squeezing his arm. "Blood. She was injured and I treated the wound." Breaking away from him, Natasha ran back to the inn, and he followed. Inside, they both slowed down so as not to alarm Griselda and the girls. Clint stayed with Natasha all the way to the laundry area where she snatched up several pieces of blood stained cloth.

She hurried up the stairs, and Clint stayed with her. He wasn't sure why. It would take several hours to get the results. On television and in the movies, to increase the drama, writers gave forty-eight hours as the quickest DNA results would come back. The tech developed by SHIELD R&D could do the job in much less time. Hours were better than days, but still too long for Clint.

While Natasha started the sequencing, Clint paced, snapping his fingers and huffing every few seconds until his partner stuck her foot out and tripped him. "Why don't you go take a bath?"

"I'm good." A snort stopped him in his tracks. "_What?_"

"You smell like sweaty horse."

Lifting his arm, Clint gave himself a good sniff. _Phew! She's right._ Out loud, he said, "You don't like my new after shave?"

"No," she stated unequivocally.

Going to the dresser, he took out clean clothes. "You know, I get that communal baths are their thing, but I'd really rather not share a tub with a bunch of hairy men."

Crossing her arms, she pursed her lips. "Are you _seriously_ going to tell me you've never showered or taken a bath with a woman before?"

"No. I mean _yes_, I have. But it's _not_ the same." Clint's hands moved through the air as if caressing an invisible form. "Women are all soft, delectable curves. And men aren't." He shuddered and Natasha chuckled at the look of mock horror.

Going to his side, she held his hand and smiled. "Go get cleaned up, and when you come back we'll get something to eat."

"Okay. Suddenly, I'm starving." An opportunity presented itself and Clint took it by swooping down and claiming a kiss. For once, Natasha didn't call him a name or scowl. She just stared at him as he closed the door.

~~O~~

Alone in the room, Natasha was becoming more and more anxious, pacing and wishing everything hadn't gone sideways yet again. To calm herself, she stood in the open area at the foot of the bed, inhaled deeply and let it out, going immediately into a tai chi routine. Her mind had been soothed to the point where she didn't want to hit something then, the door opened. She whipped around, her left hand balled into a fist. Clint dodged to the side, the blow narrowly missing his head.

"_Kokogo chyorta?!_ It's just me, Nat."

"_Izvinite._ Still a little…" she shrugged sheepishly. Tossing his dirty clothes on a chair, Clint tried to hug her. Though he'd returned, all clean and sweet smelling, she couldn't bear to be touched just yet. With the analyzer was still working she was finding it hard not to agonize over the fact that she'd actually touched her daughter, tended her wound. "Ready to eat?"

"Yeah." He dropped a bag on the foot of the bed, opened it and started pulling cloth wrapped items out, setting them on the desk. "Griselda made us sandwiches."

Picking up the chunks of bread with slabs of meat between then, Natasha took a bite and chewed. As soon as the first bit hit her stomach, she realized how hungry she was. Across from her, Clint was eating like he'd been on a hunger strike for a week. He noticed her watching, again giving her a sheepish shrug. They finished eating in silence, eyes on the analyzer. The device would beep when it was done, but that was still a few hours away.

"You know, watching it won't make it finish any faster."

She glanced up at him then back to the device. "Can't help it."

Clint reached across to hold her hand. "Nat, Annabelle is _alive_ and we found her. That thing is just gonna prove what we already know. Ainsley McKenna is our daughter."

She pulled her hand away and put it in her lap with the other one. "We have to talk to her parents. Her _adoptive_ parents. Have them break it to her that she's coming with us."

"Right. They've brought her up as their own. It wouldn't be fair for us to just swoop in and take her away." She began drumming her fingers on the table top while Clint cleaned up the remains of their meal. Then, a thought occurred to her. "Clint, what if Mr. and Mrs. McKenna refuse to tell Ainsley the truth? Or what if they tell her, but won't let her come with us? This isn't the twenty-first century. We can't sue for custody."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Yawning and scratching his stomach, Clint reached down to take off his boots, his expression changing to annoyance for no reason she could discern. Shaking head, he stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it. When he saw her looking, he stopped and stood up. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me when that thing's done."

"I will. While you do that, I'll…"

Flopping onto the bed, he grinned and winked. "You could take a nap with me."

He patted the bed in invitation, and after that heavy meal, she was a little tired. She removed her boots and belt, and lay down next to him. At his urging, she snuggled against his side and closed her eyes.

~~O~~

"Ainsley McKenna! Get ye down from there this instant!" Edeen McKenna called out to her youngest child. The girl was always climbing. Trees, the barn, the outside of buildings in the village. And no matter how high she climbed, there was always one more branch, one more hill, one more mountain to scale. The child had done it from the day she arrived at their home. The first time Edeen had found her on top of the wardrobe, she'd panicked, afraid that she'd fall. But she never did. Not once. After a while, the family got used to it as did everyone who knew her. In fact, everything she did seemed to come easy to her whether it was the bow or reading or even cooking, though she frequently voiced her dislike of food preparation.

Another thing that puzzled Edeen was the pictures she drew. Outlandish and bizarre things that flew through the air and wagons that didn't need horses to move them. Edeen snorted to herself while waiting for a customer to decide on which of Brendan's wood carvings would suit her best.

And there were the strange words she sometimes used. Malyshka, Pápochka, and the name she called the stuffed toy, ZAychik.

The girl huffed and climbed down from where she'd been sitting for most of the day. "Aye. I'm comin'." She finished by sliding down the bannister of the rail from the second floor to the first, jumping off the end and landing solidly on both feet.

Edeen put her arm around Ainsley's shoulders. "It's time we were gettin' home. Winifred's makin' supper 'n yer brother's been tending the animals and the fields alone. He'll be wantin' t' get home t' Cristie 'n George soon."

Ainsley fingered the scratch on her forehead, and Edeen scowled. "Dinnae Mistress Lockhart tell ye t' have a care?"

"Aye, but is hurts some," she whined as only a pre-teen could.

"Ye'll be fine, love. Let's get the wagon loaded 'n we'll let ye take charge on th' ride home."

Ainsley's face lit up with excitement as she scampered ahead to the stall calling out for her father to hurry. Shaking her head, Edeen followed at a more sedate pace thinking about the odd look that Mistress Lockhart had given Ainsley before they left the inn, wondering what it meant.

~~O~~

_Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep._

Clint vaulted off the bed jostling Natasha awake. Rolling off the side, she joined him at the desk. "What's it say?"

He'd picked it up, but hadn't powered up the display. "I'm almost afraid to look."

"I'm not. Give it here." Snatching the device from him, Natasha touched the power button and a small display lit up.

Holding it so he could see, they read the results together, Clint announcing loudly, "Yes! It's a match!"

They hugged and Natasha couldn't stop the few tears that rolled down her cheeks. Clutching handfuls of his shirt, she held on tight, startled when Clint released her suddenly.

"Let's go to their stall and talk to them now. That way they'll have a day or so to get used to the idea and speak to Ainsley."

A few minutes later they were staring at the empty stall where the McKenna family sold their wares. Disappointed but not disheartened, the partners made several casual inquiries as to the location of the McKenna farm before taking a long walk back to the inn. They stopped in the kitchen to tell Griselda and Tavish that they'd finally gotten a lead on where their daughter might be and would be leaving in the next day or so to travel to another village.

Emotionally drained from the excitement of the day, they returned to their room where Clint removed his knives and boots. Standing by the side of the bed, he rubbed his hands through his hair then grabbed Natasha's hand as she paced by. Bringing that hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers, while his free hand brushed the hair from where it stuck to her cheek. That same hand slid around the back of her neck to urge her close. Before she could back off, his lips touched hers. Soft and gentle, no intrusion, no demands. Just letting her know that he cared. She eased away, her eyes meeting his. He smiled, his eyebrows wiggling. "Nat, remember at the camp when I turned you down?"

"Yes."

That mischievous grin was back. "I was just thinking. We had a late lunch and a nap. Supper isn't until after dark." He nodded at the bed. "Want to, uh…"

He still held her right hand leaving her left free to touch his cheek lightly with her fingertips. "I feel a little grungy. I'll go take a quick bath and be right back."

Nodding, he kissed her hand again and released her, the bed creaking as he lay down to wait, hands laced behind his head.

~~O~~

Natasha listened to Clint moving around the room. He was restless and she didn't blame him for being so. She would be in his place. And frustrated that they hadn't' been able to speak to the McKennas tonight instead of tomorrow. She went down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up for their first night of real intimacy. The last thing she did was brush her hair, the waves bouncing against her upper back and shoulders. Clint had once said he liked her hair long and wondered if subconsciously that was the reason she hadn't cut it. Returning to the room, she smiled and opened the door, say brightly, "Okay, big fella. Get ready for…"

Her mouth dropped open at being greeted by a snore that was quickly followed by another and another. The poor guy had to be exhausted after the day he had and tomorrow would be more of the same. Resigning herself to not getting any sex tonight, Natasha crawled under the covers and spooned against Clint's back. There was a momentary halt in the snoring then it continued unabated, the vibrations eventually lulling her to sleep.

~~O~~

Sunlight streamed through the window catching Clint on the back of his head. The warmth chased away most of the cobwebs of sleep. Rubbing his eyes and yawning removed the rest, and what he remembered stopped just after Natasha had gone to bathe. After that, nothing until just now. He was pressed up against her back and she was still peacefully sleeping.

When the final reboot of his brain had completed, he remember what the two of them had planned for the evening. With a hefty amount of dread, he lifted the covers relieved to see that they were both dressed. Then, Natasha surprised him by saying, "No, we didn't."

He dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. "Should I be relieved or afraid for my life?"

She rolled over to face him, their noses barely an inch apart. "Neither. We both needed sleep."

A slow smiled turned up the corners of his mouth. "Now that we're rested…"

Before he could finish, Natasha swooped in and kissed him on the mouth. It started out as a way to stop him from talking then changed into a feverish battle for dominance. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rolled, bringing her across his chest. One hand skimmed around her waist and slid up under the back of the nightdress she wore in place of pajamas, over her bare backside, the dip in the small of her back and the ridges of her spine to the nape of her neck, bringing her even closer.

There was a knock on the door. Separating their mouths, Natasha called out, "Aye?"

Dolina's voice came through slightly muffled but understandable. "Good morrow, Mistress Lockhart. Mistress Campbell asked me t' wake ye due t' ye wished t' help with th' cookin' 'n such."

"Thank you. I'll be down presently."

"Aye, Miss."

Clint Listened to the girl's footsteps fade then indulged himself in one of his favorite hobbies: swearing. "S***! That means Tavish will around to roust _my_ ass out of bed too."

The padding of Natasha's bare feet on the rug accompanied her trek around the end of the bed to the dresser where she kept her clothes. Pulling them out, she hurriedly dressed, flipping her hair from inside the collar. "Sorry. I forgot Griselda asked for help. Maidie is marrying at the tournament so today's her last as a working stiff."

"I thought they'd done away with arranged marriages."

Natasha gathered up her clothes, turning her back to change. "They have. Maida and her young man have been betrothed for almost a year."

Bringing his knees up, Clint lay his elbows on them, the sheet still covering him to the waist. "You know, it really _sucks_."

"I know, and I'm sorry we didn't…"

"_That_ sucks too. I meant the part about women not being able to work after they're married."

Sitting on the side of the bed to put on her boots, Natasha agreed with him. "True, but you have to remember that many people died from disease and war. A woman's main function was to get married at a very young age in order to produce as many children as possible before her reproduction potential reached its natural conclusion."

He poked her in the back. "You sound like Selvig, boiling everything down to the numbers."

"So becoming emotional about a situation you can't change helps how?" Getting to her feet again, Natasha put on her belt, tightening it around her narrow waist.

"All I'm saying is…never mind." Jumping off the bed, he reached for his pants. "I'm gonna speak to Tavish about the McKennas, see what I can find out about the kind of people they are and how they've treated Anna-Ainsley."

Using a strip of leather, Natasha tied her hair back then sat down to put her boots on. "I wish we'd found out a few days ago. It's only thirty-two hours 'till we go home. Not much time to take in the fact that she's adopted and her parents traveled more than three hundred-fifty years into the past to find her."

"That would be a lot to take in even if she were an adult."

Hours later, Natasha was in the garden out in back of the inn. Something about digging in the loamy soil, covered in sweat and her knees aching provided a different sort of satisfaction than she received from putting the bad guys in prison or tricking someone into giving her anything she wanted.

Sitting back on her heels, Natasha brushed away the hairs sticking to her face and stood, stretching her sore back. The basket at her feet had been filled with the fresh herbs she picked. In the kitchen, she left it with Dolina. "Griselda?"

"Aye?"

"Could we speak alone please?"

The older woman led the way to her private rooms she shared with her husband. She must've seen something on Natasha's face because she touched her gently on the shoulder. "What is it, love? Are ye and Clint havin' a bit of a kerfuffle?"

"Nothing like that. I just wanted ye t' know that we've some news about our Annabelle."

Concerned, Griselda offered Natasha a seat but she remained standing. "What sort o' news?"

"Good, I hope. There's a chance that she's with a family in Laomainn."

"Praise be!" She clasped her hands together. "Tavish 'n me, we'll go t' the chapel 'n say a prayer for ye." Bustling down the hall, Griselda spoke over her shoulder. "The lasses 'n me will fix ye food fer th' trip. Anything else ye'll be needin'?"

"Just the wagon, if ye don't mind."

Griselda packed food into a bag and handed it to Natasha, gathering her into an impulsive hug. "The blessings of God on ye 'n yer wee lamb, Natasha."

"Thank ye, Griselda. We appreciate yer kindness these past few days. We've not had much o' that in our travels." _No kidding!_

Natasha left Griselda, Dolina and Aileen to their chores and returned to the room.

~~O~~

Tightening the drawstring, Clint dropped the sack filled with his belongings next to his partner's. All they were taking back to the future with them was what they'd brought. "You ready?"

Shrugging, he picked up the knife he'd gotten from Del, turning it over and over then resolutely set it on the dresser. "As I'll ever be. Think this'll work?"

Natasha settled the strap on her shoulder purposely speaking slowly and distinctly for his benefit. "I don't know. But we have to try."

She got a sad and faraway look in her eyes. He went to her side, wrapping his arm around her. "What's wrong?"

"I just can't help thinking what if…"

Turning her to face him, Clint looked into her eyes. "Don't. Let's get going. Tavish said we could use the wagon. Just before we leave, we'll turn the horses loose and they'll find their way home."

Nodding, Natasha led the way downstairs and out to the barn on the side of the tavern. They climbed up, Clint taking the reins. The archer tried to relax and enjoy the ride until they got outside of town where he pulled off the side of the road and took out the map of the area that Tavish had given him, unrolling it across their laps. "So the farm we're looking for isn't far from the loch."

"We take this road," Natasha ran her finger along a wide, twisty line, "to a grove of silver birch."

Clint agreed with Natasha's opinion. "If the map's to scale, the farm is maybe five miles down once we get off the main drag."

"Shouldn't take long to get there." A rider on a horse came toward them from the other direction. Clint nodded as the man went by, and the man tipped his hat to Natasha.

Clint liked the slower, more peaceful pace away from the hustle and bustle of New York, but he also missed the city…and the technology. The neighborhood he lived in was relatively safe. Well, once it was known that, if anyone messed with Clint's friends and neighbors, he'd kick their asses. A few brave souls had tested the theory and wound up either in the ER, in jail or both.

Eventually, the word got around and things got better. He also let it be known that just because they couldn't see him didn't mean he didn't know and wouldn't take appropriate action if they were behaving uncivilized. Here in the late 1600s, their time had been mostly trouble free, but he still missed the big city and was more than ready to get back. Again, Natasha touched him on the arm bringing him out of his woolgathering. "Hmm?"

"Where'd you go?"

He could've lied, but chose the truth for once. "Home. Did I leave the iron plugged in, turn off the gas, stop the paper, have mail held, put the dog in a kennel?"

Snorting, Natasha took the reins from his lax fingers. "Better let _me_ drive. Home, I believe. But, you never iron, your apartment is all electric, you don't get the paper, your mail is automatically forwarded when on a mission and you don't have a dog."

"I was thinking of _getting_ a dog. You know, for Annabelle."

"She likes cats. Or did." They rode in silence until the turn came up. "We'll be there soon. If Edeen and Gavin don't believe our story, stay calm."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, stopping to stare at her in disbelief. "You _do _know who you're talking to, right?"

"Yes. So I repeat, _stay calm_. We can't force them to trust that what we're telling them is the truth. It's a fantastic story, even to you and me. It'll be even more so to them so behave."

"I promise to _try_."

Natasha steered the wagon over to the side so another larger one could pass. The couple in the driver's seat nodded as they passed. "There's the turn."

She made the turn as if she'd been driving a horse and buggy all her life, but didn't say another word until they arrived at the McKenna home. The closer they got the more tense she became until he could feel it as if it were himself. Maybe it was. He thought he was relaxed, but he could be mistaken. Probably was. No, he was twitchy alright. And the ringing in his ears didn't help. "This feels like an ambush. For them, not for us."

Bringing the horse to a stop near the one already parked in front of the house, Clint had a moment of ironic reflection that things haven't changed all that much. Guests sill parked in front of the house, knocked to announce themselves, and wiped their feet before stepping inside.

Clint jumped down, circled around the back of the cart to help Natasha, but she'd already done the job herself. _She makes it hard for me to be a gentleman sometimes._ They headed for the front door, Natasha stopping him by holding up her hand. "I hear voices."

Glancing around, Clint spied the older daughter sitting on a stump with a young man. From the way they looked at each other it was apparent that he was the girl's boyfriend or fiancé. He wished them well and pretended he hadn't seen them kissing.

Naturally that led him to contemplate the day when Annabelle would start dating. If Clint had his way, it wouldn't happen until he was dead. But because it wasn't practical, he began planning how to intimidate the boys that came to pick her up.

Another thought brought him to a screeching halt. What if the McKenna's believed their story then left the decision up to Annabelle and she decided to stay? Could he respect that decision? After a millisecond of cogitation, he realized that he wouldn't have a choice. And neither would Natasha. A glance at her face dappled by the sun through the leaves and he knew they were on the same page. Lifting his hand, he knocked on the door. Footsteps announced someone coming and a moment later, Edeen smiled at them. "Och, this is a surprise. Please come in."

The agents wiped their feet and stepped inside so the door could be closed. Edeen led them to the main room. In the twenty-first century, it would be a combination living room, dining room and kitchen. Doors leading off the far side most likely opened onto bedrooms. In this century, the children all shared a room. Boy _and_ girls. Clint didn't approve, but it wasn't his place to tell these people how to conduct their society.

"Mistress McKenna, this is my husband, Clint. Clint, this is Ainsley's mother, Edeen." Their hostess offered them seats, Clint waiting until their hostess was seated.

Smiling, Edeen said, "I'm glad you've come, Mistress Lockhart. Gavin 'n I can't thank ye enough for tendin' to our girl. She's our youngest, 'n soon will be th' only child still at home, once Winifred 'n Adam are wed. Th' lad's already buildin' their home on a corner o' his da's land."

"Please call us Clint 'n Natasha, Edeen. And congratulations to both families. I'm sure they'll be very happy."

"Aye. It's much different for them than Gavin 'n myself. We'd known each other all our lives 'n God blessed us in that we found love together before th' betrothal when we were but thirteen. Since th' allied clans abolished arranged marriages, th' young ones have been happier when th' time comes t' them."

~~O~~

Natasha's hand sought out Clint's, holding tight hoping the simple gesture would tell him what she wasn't able to say. Edeen saw and Natasha was relieved to see she wasn't offended by the small show of affection. "It's the same for us. Where we grew up, our king, as a young prince, was th' first t' refuse t' be forced into a marriage that neither he nor his betrothed wanted. The clans agreed 'n that same year, himself met 'n married a lass from one o' th' clans."

Releasing Natasha's hand, Clint shifted in his seat. "I suppose you're wondering why we've come…"

"Mum!" Ainsley's voice called out from the room with the door standing ajar. Then, it swung wider as she rushed into the room, stumbling to a stop when she saw they had company. "Clint, Mistress Lockhart. Mum dinnae say ye were comin'."

Edeen put her arm around Ainsley and pulled her close. "That's 'cause I dinnae _know_ they were comin', love. What were ye callin' for?"

Ainsley looked at Clint and Natasha then back at her mother, obviously embarrassed. With her voice very soft, she said, "It's nae important."

With loving patience, Edeen said, "Then go t' yer room 'n do yer stitchin'. I'll be in soon."

"Aye, Mum." The front door opened to admit Gavin. He stomped the dirt from his boots while using his hat to knock dust from his clothing before stepping inside. Gavin hung his hat on a peg beside the door with the others. "Da!"

The girl threw herself into Gavin's arms heedless of the dust and smell. "Evenin', love. Now go 'n do as Mum says."

And like any teen or pre-teen, Ainsley rolled her eyes. Kissing the top of the girl's head, he smiled affectionately at the red-haired girl. "Love ya, lassy."

"Love ya too, Da." She kissed Edeen on the cheek, whispering, "Love ye, Mum," before running into her room and slamming the door. Gavin was greeted by and introduced to their guests, with an explanation how they met. He shook Clint's hand and nodded to Natasha. "So, what brings ye t' our home on this fine evenin'?"

"The reason we came t' Laomainn was t' search for our daughter, taken from us several years ago."

Gavin's face darkened with anger on their behalf. "May they burn in hell." He shifted in his seat, obviously tired from the day's labors. "How can we help?"

That was just the opening Natasha had hoped for, and she let Clint handle this part alone as the McKenna's would expect. His expression and demeanor were suitably grave. "We know where she is."

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 13**

Gavin and Edeen held each other's hands, both glowing with excitement on Clint and Natasha's behalf, Edeen speaking for them. "She's been found?"

Clint's eyes strayed to the door through which Ainsley had gone. "Aye. She's living with a family nae far from Laomainn."

Gavin seated himself, now looking puzzled. "Are thems th' ones what's taken yer child?"

"From what we've been able t' discover, they found her wandering in th' woods 'n when no one claimed her, they raised her as their own." Clint to paused at the look on Edeen's face. Fear, dread, alarm, borderline panic. The area around Clint's heart tightened until he could hardly breathe. He wanted to hold his daughter and never let her go, but to do so would destroy the woman who had thought of Annabelle as hers for the last ten years. He and Natasha were here to take something very precious from them. He'd felt the same since the day Annabelle went through the portal. Could he really live with himself if he did that to Edeen? Clint was kicked out of his thoughts by Gavin.

"Ow! Edeen, yer hurtin' my hand, love." His wife didn't seem to hear, her fingers clenched around her husband's so hard they turned white. He managed to free himself, her hand balling into a fist where it now lay in her lap.

Clint saw and reacted in the only way he could under the circumstances. "Gavin, do ye mind if my lovely wife 'n I step outside for a moment?"

The farmer didn't seem to notice that his wife had gone deathly still, her eyes wide and unblinking as he walked them to the door. "Just come in when ye've finished."

Moving away from the building and lowering her voice so they wouldn't be heard, Natasha demanded, "What the _hell_ are you doing, Clint? I _want_ my daughter back and she's _right here_."

"You saw Edeen's face. If we try to take Annabelle-_Ainsley_ away from them, she'll be devastated."

"I _know_ how she feels. But she's _our_ daughter! She belongs with _us!_"

Clint paced back and forth in front of Natasha where she was standing with her arms crossed and all weight on one foot. The other foot was tapping the ground in a fast rhythm that sped up the longer they were out here. He jerked to a stop, pointing at the house. "That child is ours simply because Rankin used our DNA to create her. We raised her for two years. _Two_. Edeen and Gavin have had her for _ten years_! Do we really have the right to take her away?"

"Yes! She's _our_ flesh and blood, Clint. And I _want_ my child!" Natasha's breathing sped up. "If Selvig had done what he was supposed to, we'd've had her back long ago."

Growling at her refusal to grasp the concept he was trying to get across, Clint got up close. "She will be twelve years old soon. Even in our time that's old enough to make some decisions for herself. And she's a _smart girl_."

"Clint, will you _please_ make your point."

He took a step back. "Our daughter, she's like us, Natasha. She is smart, headstrong, stubborn, obstinate, and willful. She's also emotionally strong and very practical. She, uh, gets that last from _you_."

Natasha crossed her arms and turned away from him. "Thanks for reminding me that you've spent more time with her than I have."

"My point is if we try to make her come with us and she doesn't want to, she will hate us for the rest of her life. Do you really want that? Wouldn't you rather have her be happy than rip _all_ of our hearts out? You and me, Nat. We have the training to handle situations like this. She hasn't." Reaching out to touch her on the shoulder, Clint was surprised when she let him turn her to face him again. "You know I'm right."

Nodding reluctantly, she stepped into his embrace, and if she'd been any other woman, he'd swear she was crying, but when she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes were dry. Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss, pulling away when the door opened and Gavin came out.

"Everything okay?"

The spies separated as they returned to the house. Clint shrugged. "My apologies. We just needed t' talk."

Smiling as if everything was right with the world, Natasha said, "We really just came by so I could check Ainsley's injury for infection, then we'll be gone."

Knowing just how much it took from Natasha to pretend that all was right in their world, Clint resumed his seat near the fire while Gavin led Natasha to Ainsley's bedroom. "Ainsley, love, can Natasha come in?"

"_Aye, Da_."

Gavin opened the door, closing it behind the Russian.

~~O~~

Standing just inside the room, Natasha gave it a quick once over. There were two beds with evidence that there'd once been a third. It was neat as a pin, the bed made, handmade quilts in place of comforters or spreads. And there, lying on the bed closest to the window was a small stuffed bunny, the same one that Annabelle had been clutching when she went through the portal.

Calling on her extensive training, Natasha managed not to react to the sight of the stuffed animal or the fact that the girl sitting in a chair by the window embroidering was her two year-old daughter nearly grown.

The girl looked up with a happy smile, laying her project aside and standing. Natasha's heart skipped a beat at seeing the lopsided dimples, deeper on the right than the left. She saw that same smile every time Clint found something amusing. How he couldn't have seen it himself she didn't know. Or maybe she did. They'd both been expecting Annabelle to be almost six. Not the beautiful young lady before her. "I've come t' have a look at yer injury."

Pushing the hair off her forehead, she grinned. Again like Clint. "Almost gone."

Coming to stand next to the chair, she tilted Ainsley's head back and turned it toward the light coming in the window. "Och, that's lookin' fine. Another day or so 'n ye won't even know ye'd been hurt."

"It dinnae really hurt at th' time. Well, it did a wee bit."

Natasha sat on the side of the bed, lifted her right eyebrow skeptically and touched a finger to the corner of one eye. "Really? Thought I saw a tear or two."

Ainsley rolled her eyes as she sat next to Natasha. "I was bitin' m' tongue so's nae t' give Cawley 'n Duncan what for." She snorted. "Dinnae need t' though. They was more afraid o' _ye_ than _me_."

_And well they should be!_ Natasha let that slide without commenting out loud. Having her daughter so close and not being able to tell her who she was hurt so bad that she felt like vomiting. Forcing the bile down, she pointed at the embroidery. "What're ye makin'?"

Jumping up, Ainsley snatched it from the table and returned to Natasha's side. She apparently had gone her own way judging from the lines drawn on the cloth that weren't being followed. Tilting her head to the side and squinting a little brought the finished product into focus. If she continued with her plan, the object would resemble a bi-plane. Something that wouldn't be seen in the skies over any continent for more than a hundred fifty years.

The girl seemed embarrassed about her work. "I'm nae good at it, 'n Mum gets upset when I draw or…" she shook the piece of cloth. "Wants t' know where I've gotten th' idea for such nonsense."

"And what do ye tell her?" One shoulder came up then down. Another Clint thing he probably didn't even realize he was doing. Natasha wondered if there was any part of _her_ in their daughter.

"I dinnae know _what_ t' tell her." Glancing over her shoulder at the door, Ainsley scooted a bit closer, her voice barely a whisper. "If I say somethin', ye'll nae speak of it?"

Touched that the girl would trust her with a confidence and not able to speak through the constriction in her throat, Natasha nodded.

Ainsley rummaged in a closet, coming out with a satchel. She opened it and took out a stack of drawings. Everything in them was recognizable to Natasha though a bit crude. She obviously hadn't inherited Clint's talent for drawing. He wasn't great, nothing worthy of being displayed anywhere but the refrigerator, but he did okay. "I see these things in m' dreams 'n sometimes, when I'm lyin' in th' grass 'n watchin' the sky, I hear things."

"What sorts of things, sweetie?" The second the endearment was out of her mouth, Natasha wanted to snatch it back thinking the girl might remember and their lies would be discovered. She needn't have worried. Ainsley was distracted by the concepts and thoughts she didn't understand.

"Mum 'n Da said m' imagination was workin' too hard. It, the sound I heard, were sorta like a bee, but louder." She made a whirring sound, a passable imitation of an airplane or car engine. "'N sometimes…"

"What? You can tell me. Promise." Natasha nudged Ainsley's shoulder with her own. Still, she was hesitant so Natasha just let her think about it and didn't push.

"When I'm lyin' in bed at night 'n can't sleep, I see things in m' head. I dinnae tell Mum 'cause she'll be tellin' Da ''n they get upset. Winnie 'n Brendan think ma heid's mince. I let 'em think th' visions have stopped, but they're still here." She tapped her temple.

Taking a chance, Natasha put her arm around Ainsley and pulled her close. "Dinnae let them bother ye. Brothers 'n sisters are supposed t' give ye what for. But they love ye just th' same. So tell me th' story."

"In m' head, I can hear someone, a man, singin', 'n it's always just as I'm goan t' sleep. 'N he smells different, this man. Different than m' da."

"Different how?"

"M' Da, he smells like th' animals, manure 'n sweat when he comes from tendin' th' fields. But th' other, th' one in m' dreams, he smells like…" Ainsley closed her eyes and inhaled, "…th' forest after rain, all clean 'n pure like he just bathed."

Again, Natasha smiled, fondly this time. That was a perfect description of Clint just after a shower. When they were grappling in their sparring sessions, that scent would mingle with his sweat. Most women would be turned off by it. But if she had to choose, she'd pick the sweat. It was a byproduct of the time they spent physically close to each other. And because of that unwritten rule, it was the only way they _could_ be close.

"'N then there's th' woman."

Natasha's hand fell away from Ainsley and she placed it in her lap with the other one. "What woman?"

"Th' one what holds me in her lap 'n reads t' me, but th' words dinnae make sense." Turning to look right at Natasha, Ainsley, in a sing-song voice, said, "'I do not like green eggs 'n ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-am. Would you? Could you? In a car? Eat them! Eat them! Here they are. I would not, could not, in a car…" She trailed off looking embarrassed. "There be more, but…"

Covering her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing and automatically adding the next few lines like she would have if she'd been at home, Natasha cleared her throat. "I don't think it's strange at all. Our minds pick up every little thing it sees 'n hears, mixes it up inside then spits it all out again when we're sleepin' or just watchin' th' clouds go by."

Giving into her desire, Natasha picked up the bunny. "Who's this then?"

The girl took the toy and held him on her lap. "ZAychik. It means…"

"Bunny?"

Giggling, Ainsley set the toy back in his place of honor propped up on the pillow. "Aye. I've no idea what language it is, but I think I learned it from th' woman."

Though she was reluctant to be parted from Ainsley especially knowing that she did remember her life before, Natasha stood up, brushing her hands down her skirt to smooth it into place. "Clint 'n me, we need t' be on our way."

Impulsively, Ainsley hugged Natasha and the agent hugged her back. The last time she'd seen her daughter, she was hardly more than two. Now she was becoming a beautiful young woman. To keep from crying, Natasha set her away and rushed out of the room. To Clint she said, "Let's go."

He got to his feet, nodding to their hosts. "If we dinnae come back this way again, it's been a pleasure knowin' ye 'n yer family, Gavin."

"Same t' ye, Clint."

The men shook hands then Natasha led the way out, not saying a word even once they were in the wagon and on the road again.

~~O~~

Clint understood the silence from Natasha and he wished there was something he could say to make it all better for both of them. In this instance, not saying anything was the best course. When she was ready to talk about Ainsley, she'd bring it up. Until then, he'd just be a supportive presence.

Turing onto the side road that would take them back toward the loch, Clint steered the horses through the trees to the spot where he and Natasha had arrived. He jumped down and immediately began unloading their supplies. On the other side, his partner took down the tent, carrying it over to a flat area. Using a small shovel, she dug the fire pit then went into the forest to gather wood and start a fire.

By the time the blaze was filling the air with the scent of burned wood, Clint had the tent up and was pounding the last stake in. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha bring the bedding and toss it inside. From the sack containing the food, she brought out a waterskin and took a long drink before offering it to him. He waited a few beats during which she just stared at the ground between them. "You okay?"

"Aye. I mean yes." She tilted her head up so he could see her face. "Thank you for giving me a chance to spend some time with our daughter."

"You're her mother. You deserve to know her too." Silence fell again, and she started to turn away then came back at his next words. "Nat, we both expected this to turn out differently, and I'm sorry it didn't."

Crossing her arms loosely, Natasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know. Me too."

~~O~~

The sounds of the forest were beginning to annoy Natasha, and getting back home was the only real solution or she would give in to the urge to return to the McKenna farm for her child, even considering the promise she made to Clint. What she needed was a distraction, something to take her mind off of, well, everything.

The crunch of grass under Clint's feet came toward her. He reached into the back of the wagon for his own bag, pulling out clean clothes, the ones they'd come here in, both having agreed to return with nothing but what they came with. "I'm gonna go for a swim."

Nodding, she listened to Clint go to the water's edge. Giving into temptation, she turned to watch him undress taking time to admire the lines of his body as he slowly unveiled each part. She smiled when he dropped his pants and stepped out of them leaving him naked and unashamed. As long as they'd known each other, Clint had not been a modest person though he did change his nature for those times it was called for on a mission. Now wasn't one of them, though seeing him in all his glory did give her an idea for a diversion.

She dropped her sack to the ground, crouching to rummage through it, pulling out clean clothes of her own. Carrying them to the loch, she dropped them on top of Clint's and quickly undressed.

Clint was in up to just below his chest and facing away from the shore. Dunking under and coming back up, he used both hands to swipe the water from his face, almost jumping when Natasha placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned so quickly, the water splashed up over her shoulders, feeling good on her overheated skin. The look he gave her almost made her laugh, and that was one of the things she loved about him. Very few people could get her to laugh spontaneously. Only one, really. _Time to change that unwritten rule._

"Nat?"

Placing two fingers over his mouth, she shushed him. "You talk too much."

Natasha replaced her fingers with her lips before he could start a conversation where one or the other of them would talk themselves out of what they were about to do. She gasped when Clint wrapped his arms around her so tightly she could barely breathe. She could feel his muscles expanding and contracting with is movements, and before long, they were caught up in each other to the point that nothing else mattered.

The next morning, Natasha awoke to chirping birds, waves splashing against the shore and the leaves rustling as the wind danced across the land and water. The sides of the tent moved in time with the breeze as well. And as her brain became accustomed to being in this state of wakefulness, she felt an intermittent tickle on the back of her neck. Clint's breaths came slow and steady, and though she wanted to stay just as she was, Mother Nature had other ideas.

Carefully lifting his arm, she scooted from under and out through the tent opening. Their clothes were still under the tree where they'd been left. After she'd gone to him in the water, they hadn't bothered with clothing as they continued their explorations of each other inside the tent. Not out of any sense of modesty. In this era, it was highly unlikely that anyone would happen upon them. It was more because they had wanted someplace softer and drier to lie down.

Taking her clothing and the small shovel, Natasha moved a good distance from their camp, attended to business then went to the loch to wash her hands. She used the skirt of her dress to dry, but before she could pull it on over her head, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist.

"Morning."

Turning within his embrace, Natasha draped her arms over Clint's shoulders and kissed him. The feel of his callused hands roaming up and down her back reignited the flames from last night. Her left hand slid down his firmly muscled ribcage, but he stopped her before she reached her destination.

"Before we go there again, I have to know. Did you mean it?" She tugged and he released her, but only so he could hold her close again. "What you said last night?"

One side of her mouth turned up in a half smirk, an eyebrow twitching upward. "Which part? 'Oh, _God_, Clint! Do that again!' or 'Hold still while I…'?"

Clint moved his hands to grip her upper arms loosely, giving her a small shake. "You _know_ what I'm talking about, Nat. Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

The smirk dropped away, her expression becoming serious, and one hand touching his cheek. "I've always meant it."

Stepping away from her, he reached for his pants, putting them on while he talked. "Before it was 'love you', not 'I love you'."

Since they obviously weren't going to return to their previous activities, Natasha started getting dressed too, huffing at him. "What's the _difference?_"

"One is something you say to your best friend or even a friend with benefits. The other you say to the person who makes you feel whole. The one you want to spend the rest of your life with." Snatching up his boots, he took two steps and stopped. "When you figure out which one you're feeling, let me know." He paused exactly five seconds. "We didn't have dinner last night. I'm gonna go catch us something to eat."

And while Natasha was still figuring out Clint's meaning, he walked away muttering under his breath about annoying, stubborn, redheaded Russians. It might've been funny if the situation weren't so serious and Clint wasn't so intractable.

He left her here to think about what _he_ said about what _she_ said while they were making love, so that's what she did. Sitting on a rock, Natasha stuck an elbow into her thigh, planted her chin in her palm and started thinking. And what first came to mind was Petrovitch's voice saying the same thing over and over. _Love is for children._ After the tenth repetition, she shot to her feet, her boots flattening the grass as she stomped back and forth in front of the rock having another one of her internal debates.

_Stop thinking so hard. Try going with your feelings instead of hiding. _

"Not hiding. And I never do _anything_ without thinking it through."

_But you're overthinking __this__. Do you or don't you love Clint?_

"Of course I do. I tell him all the time"

_It's always "love you." Not once have you ever said "I love you" except for last night._

"_That_ kind of love is for children."

_That kind of love is for __everyone__!_

"But I'm not _capable_ of…"

_Yes, you __are__!_

"No!"

_If that's true, why do you let him call you Nat when you won't let anyone else?_

"Because…" Natasha's hands curled into fists. "I don't _know._ I just _do,_ and can't seem to stop."

_Well, try being his Nat instead of the Black Widow. She's just a giant pain in the…_

The voice inside Natasha's head shut up at a shout from Clint. "Na-at! Come e-eat!"

"Coming!" Closing her eyes, she breathed in through the right nostril and out through the left five times, then reversed it until the turmoil in her mind settled down. Or so she'd thought.

_We'll talk later._

"No, we won't," she told the voice firmly, rolling her eyes when it just snickered. "_Zasranec!_"

Again, Clint shouted. "Are you comin' or not? It's getting cold and we don't have a microwave."

Breaking into a jog, Natasha joined Clint at the clearing where he was just putting the finishing touches on a couple of Atlantic salmon coming off the fire. He passed one to her, then used his knife to remove the tail and head from his own, sniffing both before tossing them into the fire.

After performing surgery on her own meal, Natasha inhaled the fragrance of the herbs he'd used to enliven the flavor of the fish. It had been a long time since he'd cooked for anyone, even himself. He didn't get as much joy out of it since Annabelle had left. There were lots of things he hadn't done since that day.

_It's time for a change!_

"For once, you and I are in agreement."

"About what?"

Natasha's eyebrows drew together over her nose as she pretended to misunderstand. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Clint went back to eating.

Using her fingers, she teased a chunk of pink flesh away from the rest and popped it into her mouth, savoring the taste. The fresh herbs balanced each other out in a sort of harmony, just like she and Clint.

When they had first come to SHIELD, they'd both been loners. Coulson knew it, and still he'd forced them work together. Coulson had seen the potential for greatness that they could generate as a team. Long before _they_ realized it, Coulson had it all figured out.

They completed each other, like Yin and Yang. Without both sides, the circle would be unfinished. She thought of herself as yang with Clint as yin. He was more water, earth and moon, while she was fire, sky and sun. You couldn't have one without the other. No sun meant the moon would be a lifeless hunk of rock. The way they'd both been at one time. Now, they had each other. Two halves that made a whole.

She glanced over at Clint. He chewed mechanically, as if he weren't bothering to taste his own creation, treating it as if it were nothing more than fuel for his body. It could've been the disgusting porridge Griselda fed them each day for all the enjoyment he was displaying.

_Time to start telling yourself-and Clint-the truth._

Keeping her voice light and friendly, she said, "Mmm. Mint and rosemary?"

_This__ is how you tell a man you're in love with him?_

Natasha quashed the annoying internal voice with extreme prejudice as she awaited Clint's response.

He looked around and saw that they were alone. "You talking to _me?_"

Snorting, she waved her free hand at the empty glen. "Don't see anyone else." She chewed another bite and swallowed. "Clint, why did you stop cooking?"

Not even bothering to roll his eyes, Clint used a scrap of cloth to wipe his mouth, tossing the leftovers into the fire. Sparks flared, and even in the dazzling sunlight, his expression looked dark. He shrugged, just one shoulder. Like their daughter. She was so much like him even after being away from them for ten years, it still took Natasha's breath away.

"Not as much fun without a two-year old trying to 'help'."

"And she did love to help."

Regaining some of his former humor, he snorted. "Well, she is-_was_ a daddy's girl."

"True. She had you wrapped around her finger from day one."

He drank some water then passed the waterskin to her. "Not denying it. As long as you admit she did the same to you."

Taking a drink of water, Natasha inclined her head in agreement. Passing the waterskin back to Clint, she finished off the last bite of salmon, wiped her mouth, and like Clint, tossed the leftovers into the fire. "Thanks for catching and cooking. It was superb."

"You're welcome." The coolness was back in his tone and manner.

Smiling, she looked over at Clint to find he was giving her the look that said he thought she was nuts. The external smile on her face covered the internal smirk she had going. If he thought she was crazy _before_…

"Clint?"

"What?"

He'd picked up the waterskin to get a drink, only half-invested in their conversation. Well that was about to change. "When we get married, _you're_ doing all the cooking."

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Director Nick Fury

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 14**

Just taking a drink, Clint spewed water right in her face. "Clint! That's_ disgusting!_"

He tossed her something to dry off with then covered his mouth with the back of his hand while continuing to cough. Tipping the waterskin up, he let a small amount of water trickle into his mouth, swallowing slowly to clear his airway. He recapped the waterskin, setting it carefully aside.

Natasha watched him with one eyebrow raised in question, awaiting his answer. Could their time in the past have driven her mad? Hell, if they could travel back in time three hundred and fifty years, then anything's possible. Strange, but she didn't look crazy _or_ demented. And if she _was_ mad, he could always have her committed when they got home.

"Clint?"

His head snapped to the side. "Hmm?"

Natasha brought her knees up and linked her hands around them. "This isn't the most romantic setting for a proposal, so you have my solemn promise that, when we get home, I'll do it _right_. A nice meal at a romantic restaurant, flowers, and a box of those awful chocolates you love so much."

She got up to pace, waving her hands to emphasize her words and sounding very much not like herself. His amusement grew the longer she talked so he just let her go. "Oh, and a ring. Traditionally, the woman is given an engagement ring, but we're not exactly a traditional couple so I'll get _you_ a ring. Unless you want to help pick it out. We'll need a new place to live too because you don't like _my_ apartment and I don't like _yours_. Or we could get a house. Then, once we settle on a date, we can hire a wedding planner. All those little details will drive me…"

To stop her babbling and pacing, Clint took her hand, pulling around to face him. "Nat."

"….nuts." Looking up at him with wide eyes as if she were in shock, Natasha gaped at him a moment. "What?"

His hands came to rest on her shoulders, sliding down to lightly squeeze her upper arms. "You haven't said it yet."

"It?"

The look Clint gave her was one of mild rebuke, which she returned with a sheepish grin and shrug. He took a step back, his feet shoulder width apart and making a "bring it on" motion. "You won't get my answer until you say it out loud while we have our clothes on."

Her next act startled him almost as much as her out-of-the-blue proposal. Natasha moved toward him, placing her hands on his chest, sliding them up and around his neck. As soon as he felt her touch, his attitude softened, his shoulders and back became less stiff. He wanted to take her in his arms, but held out for what he wanted.

"Clint, I…" an adoring smile turned up the corners of her lips, "…I love you."

Cocking an eyebrow at him again, she waited. He didn't have the heart to draw it out. "I love you too, Natasha. And the answer is yes, I'll marry you." From the look on her face, it was a little bit of shock and a generous dose of delight. "You do know this means we'll have to apologize to celebritystalker1989? After destroying his career, we owe him an exclusive."

Her left hand clasped his right, weaving their fingers together. "Small price to pay. You know who we have to tell first, right?"

Clint grinned and nodded. Together, they said, "Coulson."

He leaned down to kiss her, surprised when she backed away dragging him into the tent where they spent the next several hours celebrating.

~~O~~

Snuggled within the warmth and safety of Clint's arms and cuddled against his naked body, Natasha pictured the faces of their friends when told of their engagement. Coulson wouldn't be surprised, of course. Fury, Hill, the rest? Up in the air as far as reactions go. Selvig wouldn't care at all. And it wasn't like he was a friend in the usual sense.

Dismissing everything else from her mind, Natasha rolled over to wrap her arm around Clint, their noses almost touching. She was about to go back to sleep, her eyes snapping open when a beeping sound intruded on their quiet time. The reason for the alarm lit up inside her head like a Jumbo- tron.

"Clint! Wake up!" Shaking him with one hand while the other dug around for the DNA analyzer. The device had an alarm feature as well as a way to make notes and scan certain frequencies. All SHIELD-tech. "Clint!"

"Wha-what's goin' on?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "I had the _best_ dream, Nat. You and I were…" He looked around, seeing that they were both as naked as the day they were born and it was the middle of the day. A grin spread across his face as he reached for her. "It wasn't a dream."

Slapping his hands away, she gathered up her clothes and crawled out of the tent. "No, it wasn't. Now _get up!_ The portal will be opening in thirty minutes. Do you really want to show up back at the compound in your birthday suit?"

Grabbing his clothes, he seemed to be seriously considering doing just that then changed his mind. "Wouldn't wanna scare the geeks. Besides, all of this…" he indicated himself still in all his glory, turning in a circle "…now belongs solely to you."

"Yeah. That's really great. Today is one of the best days of my life," Natasha deadpanned. "Blah, blah, blah. Just remember, the portal only stays open for six minutes."

"Oh, right." Clint was dressed within seconds. "I'll strike the tent while you get the fire."

Nodding, Natasha shoved first her left foot then her right into her boots, and strapped on each of the knives that she'd brought with her as she went to the fire pit. After kicking dirt into it, she poked around with a stick to make sure no sparks had survived that could start a fire. "Ready. Want some help?"

"Got it." Reaching inside, Clint struck the support poles, dragging them out and adding them to the others. Natasha gathered the ropes, wound them up and tied the ends off while Clint folded the tent. Together, they carried everything to the wagon and placed it all in the back. The horses were grazing nearby, and it wouldn't take long to get them hooked up so they could return the cart to Tavish and Griselda.

Thinking about the older couple, Natasha wished that there had been more she could've done to thank them for their hospitality and their assistance. Without it, they might never have found Annabelle. _Ainsley_. She _had_ to think of her as Ainsley. Though she was still _their_ child, she was also Edeen and Gavin's. And with them is where she would stay, with the family that had been there for her the last ten years.

She and Clint would definitely have a long talk with Selvig about that. He was supposed to get them here seven years ago. Finding out that they'd arrived later than they thought was the sort of surprise that neither of them liked. And when Hawkeye and the Black Widow were unhappy, all hell could break loose. Letting their child go had been one of the hardest things Natasha had ever done. But Clint was right. The McKennas were her family now.

Clint broke into her thoughts by putting his arms around her waist. "Any minute now. You ready?"

"Yes." With her hands on top of his where they rested on her stomach, she took a deep breath, saying with more conviction, "Yes. Annabelle is happy, healthy and very much loved. And knowing that makes being without her a little easier."

She could feel one side of Clint's mouth turn upward where his cheek touched her temple. "Don't forget you have _me_ to commiserate with."

"_You_ are the only thing keeping me from going completely crazy, Clint." Leaning into him, she rubbed the backs of his hands. "You came into my life at a time when I was lost. And I've never thanked you for saving me."

"You're welcome. You know, that's quite a breakthrough for someone who calls herself the Black Widow."

She sighed heavily. "The name was apropos. I didn't care about anything or anyone but myself."

"And look at you now. Look at _us._" Again, they were interrupted by beeping. "Here it comes."

They picked up their bags, and Clint snatched the bow and crossbow from the ground at his feet, and awaited the signal that would lead them to the portal when it opened. Natasha gripped Clint's hand tightly, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder in the direction of the McKenna farm.

~~O~~

Hours later, they were still waiting. The receivers in their ears didn't transmit so they couldn't even call. Clint knew that this was the exact place at which he and Natasha had arrived the same way he knew that their "window" had come and gone.

"Clint…"

"_Yes_, we had the right time and place." Immediately sorry that he snapped, Clint rubbed the back of his head. They were sitting side by side on the one feature of the area that hadn't changed in ten years: the rock. "Sorry."

She stood up seeming to be unsure of what to do next. "I don't see how we could've missed it. There has to be a problem on Selvig's end."

"We _didn't_. You know it and I know it." He stood up as well. "Hungry?"

Shaking her head, Natasha went to the wagon, rummaged in the back, coming out with a pair of pants and a shirt. "If we're going to be hanging around a while, I'm getting comfortable."

As she headed into the woods, Clint called out, "You're not gonna go all shy about changing in front of me now that we're engaged, are you?"

The snort she sent his way was filled with humor and scorn. "No. But I have to pee and _that_ I'm not doing it in front of _anyone_."

When Natasha had vanished into the forest, Clint let out the disappointment, frustration and rage he was feeling by saying a few choice words out loud. Natasha wouldn't have been offended, but he hadn't wanted to do it in front of her. One of them had to be strong about this and as far as he was concerned, it was always going to be _his_ turn. "****!"

And just because he could, Clint said a lot more in several different languages. Natasha was probably doing the same where he couldn't hear it. It helped relieve stress of a very different kind than what they'd done last night and this afternoon.

Then, while his subconscious worked on plan B, he let the rest of him be happy that the two of them would be getting married soon. At least he hoped so.

Sounds in the underbrush sent his left hand reaching for the knife under his vest. Natasha returned carrying her discarded dress, looking very sexy in the form-hugging pants and flowing tunic, her waist cinched by the wide belt. A knife was on display and Clint knew that it was only for show because she had at least three others that couldn't be seen. But then, that was the idea. One that could be seen and taken if you were captured, and others they didn't know about and may overlook. A practice that had saved them both on numerous occasions.

She threw the dress into the back of the wagon with more force than was necessary in his opinion, though understandable given the circumstances. "So, plan B would be to stay within receiver range for a while just in case Selvig's calculations were off."

"It also could've not worked the first time and needs time to recharge. Whatever the reason, we need to stay close by until we know for sure."

Throwing her hands up and letting them slap against her thighs, Natasha made a sound of frustration. "What happens if we have to leave and the portal opens while we're too far away to make it in time?"

Clint began pacing and rubbing the back of his neck. At times like this, his shoulders would ache from the tension. "Hope Selvig has the sonofab******* thing working to the point he can keep using it and make sure we're here every seven days."

"If we get stuck, we'll need someplace to live. The inn is nice, but it'll get expensive if this goes on for more than a couple of weeks."

"We can't live in a tent, especially if we're here when winter comes. I, for one, am not freezing my ass off for anyone."

Natasha stopped her own pacing to look at him. "No one?"

For the first time that day, Clint actually chuckled. "For you and Annabelle…"

"…Ainsley."

"Absolutely. For Coulson," he waggled his free hand, "maybe. But no one else."

Now Natasha was smiling. "Not even someone you once slept with?"

He turned Natasha around, his arms held loosely around her waist. "It was over between me and Hill a long time ago. We're just friends."

His fiancée-he loved that word!-reared back in surprise. "You and _Hill?_ I was talking about that pilot. What was her name?"

Sensing a trap, Clint pretended to think long and hard before answering. "Don't remember. I've forgotten every woman but _you._"

With her hands resting on his chest, Natasha's eyes sparkled with humor telling him that he'd been busted…again. "See to it or the Black Widow will reappear like that," she snapped her fingers.

As their lips made contact, a sound, like the call of some fantastic beast roared through the glen followed by wind strong enough to flatten the grass and turn this part of the loch to whitecaps. It disturbed the usually calm horses. Their soft nickering changing to frightened whinnies as they danced around trying to get free from where they'd been tied.

The strong wind pushed at Clint causing him to stumble and almost fall on top of Natasha. With a few judiciously placed steps, he maneuvered the two of them behind the trunk of a large tree for protection. In his ear he heard the receiver crackling, static drowning out whatever was being said. Shouting to be heard over the roar, he said, "Looks like they got it working."

Clint held on tight as Natasha leaned around the tree blinking rapidly trying to see through the storm that wasn't a storm. "There! I see it!" She ducked out of the way of a small tree that had been uprooted and was flying through the air with such force that she would've been killed by the impact.

The transmission became slightly clearer allowing Fury's voice to come through. _"-ury call- Ro- off -nd B – ton. -nding su-s -nd…_"

The meaning was clear even if the transmission wasn't. Supplies were being sent through. Hopefully, with something to explain what had happened and when they'd be able to go home. The portal would only stay open a short time. But if they moved from their position, they might be killed. Clint weighed death against getting stranded in the Middle Ages and decided to risk it.

Preparing to fight his way to the portal, he grabbed hold of Natasha's hand, counted to three and moved from this place of relative safety. He quickly ducked behind the tree again, wrapping Natasha in both arms and turning so that his back would take the brunt of the blow when a tree bigger than the previous one slammed against the other side of their hiding place. The wood splintered, turning it into small unguided missiles. A few grazed his arm, but he barely felt it.

A burst of static overwhelmed the signal and it shut down, not with a bang, but a whimper just as the hurricane force winds stopped.

~~O~~

Natasha stayed huddled in the safety of Clint's protection a few seconds longer in case it was only a lull. When nothing more happened, his grip on her loosened and he stepped back. One hand still held onto her and the other was on the hilt of his knife. As if _that_ could stop the wind from throwing something hard enough to kill them.

Had Clint always been this distrustful or had she just not seen it? No, she _had_ seen it. Just not aimed at her. From the first moment they encountered each other, her instincts had said she could trust him. She just didn't believe it and so hadn't even given him the time of day, turning her back on him in a cat-like show of disdain, not even speaking to him until their second meeting.

But Clint had trusted her from that first moment. He'd proven it time and time again. That was why, when she was ready to come in, she asked _him_ take her to Coulson. The senior agent's quiet and calm demeanor was the polar opposite from Clint's brash, aggressive, in-your-face approach to work _and_ life. If he hadn't been there throughout her orientation and indoctrination into the world of the good guys, there was no way to tell what might've happened to her. And she wouldn't trade one minute of the time they'd spent together for anything. "What happened?"

Clint huffed. "You're here. I'm here. We heard the _same thing_. What makes you think I know more than that?"

Crossing her arms, Natasha began tapping her foot. "My aren't we b***** today."

Motioning for her to follow, Clint stepped over the remains of the tree that had nearly killed them, twitching his shoulders where the splinters had stuck in his back. "_We_ deserve to be because _we_ are stranded three hundred-fifty ****** _years _in the past. Our ride drove right by us without even slowing down," he made an overly dramatic sweeping motion to illustrate his analogy, "only _God_ knows when it'll be back and He ain't telling."

Clint held out his hand to help her over an especially large chunk of tree and she took it without the usual snide comments about being treated as an equal. "I'm not asking you to read their minds, Clint. I want your _opinion_."

He opened his mouth, probably to make another snarky remark, snapping it shut when she held up her hand for silence. "Did you hear that?"

Confused, he said, "No. What is it?"

Natasha cocked her head to the side listening, and there, at the very limits of her hearing she heard a beeping. It was a different tone than the one from the analyzer. She followed the sound, and Clint followed her knowing better than to speak while she was tracking.

As she neared the location of the sound, she noticed something, pointing it out to Clint. He nodded seeing the pattern too. The damage and destruction fanned out at ninety degrees from a central point, the place where she'd seen the portal.

Crouching next to the tip of the wedge, Clint examined the soil uncovered by the violent intrusion. Looking around and doing calculations in his head, he nodded in satisfaction. "This is where the portal originated."

Natasha came toward him carrying several sacks. She handed two to Clint motioning for him to follow her to the wagon. Spreading out her discarded dress, she dumped the first bag out, snatching up the digital recorder. Pressing the power button, she looked at Clint and grinned at the sound of Fury's voice.

"_Agents Barton and Romanoff. I'm very sorry to have to give you this news, but the device by which you traveled to your present location has malfunctioned. Even if you had been in the exact place and time that it was opened, you would not have been able to enter the portal. If this recording has reached you, rest assured that Dr. Selvig and his team are working day and night to get you home. Return to this spot in six weeks. At that time, Selvig expects to…__What__?!_" An anxious voice in the background Natasha couldn't hear clearly interrupted Fury. After a few whispered words, he continued. "_Correction: six-zero days. God be with you, Natasha and Clint._"

Pushing the hair off her forehead, Natasha huffed out a long breath of air. "Translation: We're not going home today."

Crossing his arms, Clint echoed the huff. "Addendum: We have to get jobs."

"Correction: _you_ have to get a job. I'm the wife, remember? I'm not expected to work." He smiled and her stomach did a little flip. Yeah. She loved him. A lot.

"Can't wait to make it real." Sorting through the items spread out in front of them, he called her attention to the packages of various medications. Antibiotics, antivirals, anti-depressants. In short, at least one representative from the most common drug categories. Holding up the bottle containing green anti-depressants tablets and shaking his head, Clint commented with a wry tone, "Not nearly enough."

While she appreciated the director's thoughtfulness, neither she nor Clint were the type to need drug intervention to keep their sense of humor. "I can make something just as effective from herbs growing in the area, but we'll hold onto it just in case."

~~O~~

The recording from Fury had come through a little garbled and at first Clint had wondered if the trip through the portal had damaged the device, but when Natasha didn't mention it, he knew that the fault lay with him. The ringing and buzzing in his ears that had plagued him off and on throughout his adult life thanks to an incident while undercover at Cross Technological Enterprises was growing more pronounced.

Several years before Clint joined SHIELD, CEO William Cross, also known as the villain Crossfire, had used Clint and his paramour, Mockingbird to test an ultrasonic device meant to brainwash superheroes into fighting each other. Clint had broken the effects of the device by bursting his own eardrums.

At the end of the conflict, Mockingbird had proposed marriage to him, and though there had been a strong physical attraction, and even love, he turned her down. A few years later, she disappeared and there was talk that she had been lost in the past due to the malfunction of a device similar to the one Selvig had created. Nothing could be done at the moment so Clint tried to deal with it as best he could.

Letting out a silent sigh at the memories that had been coughed up by his brain, Clint forced a smile. "Fury sent cash, but it won't last long if we stay at the inn."

"Not much call for spies and assassins. I'll have a talk with Griselda. Offer to help out in the kitchen and garden in exchange for room and board."

Nodding, Clint headed for the horses and began hooking them up to the cart. "I might be able to talk Tavish into hiring me as entertainment a night or two a week. The rest of the time, I could help take care of the animals, run errands, that sort of thing."

Hands on her hips, Natasha squinted into the sun. "We should probably hang out here another day or so before going back to town in order to back up our story."

"Of course. I'll put the tent back up."

"I'll help." His fiancée dug in the back of the wagon, taking out the poles and ropes. Going to her side, he picked up the treated cloth of the tent and trailed after her. When that chore was done, she stood there looking like she didn't know what to do next.

Taking her hand, he gave her an encouraging smile. "Come on. Let's go for a ride."

"Want help hooking up the horses?"

"No need. We're going bareback."

Again, she gave him the look where she was trying to decide if he was joking or not.

Not giving her a chance to overthink it, Clint drew her over to where the horses were chomping on the bright green grass at the water's edge. They looked up as he approached and he could swear they knew what he had in mind. He gave her a leg up onto the back of the bay then jogged to the wagon, coming back with the bow, quiver and the crossbow.

Mounting the black and white mini-Clydesdale, he turned him in the direction of Ainsley's obstacle course. On the way, he held out the crossbow. "Think you can handle this little puppy?"

Natasha laughed as she took the weapon from him. "Anything _you_ can do, _I_ can do better."

"Oh?" Though he tried to keep a straight face, his patented smirk jumped out as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. "What about…"

She burst out laughing, a light pink tint coloring her cheeks surprising him because she never blushed. "You got me there. Though you have to admit that I did make a strong come-back."

Before long, they neared the entrance to the forest. Signaling for the horses to stop, Clint nodded at the crossbow. "Wanna check it out before we go?"

"Do you also introduce yourself and apologize to your mark before putting an arrow through him? Let's do it."

Gesturing with his left hand while the right held his bow at the ready, Clint said, "After you."

Through the material of her pants, he saw her strong thigh muscles contract as she gripped the horse with her knees. The crossbow had been altered to allow multiple shots without reloading. She shouted, "Ye-ah!" and the horse bounded into a gallop.

Clint gave her a few seconds head start then chased after her. "Gi-up!"

~~O~~

The end of the course opened into a glen that looked like it stretched up to the sun. Small animals-and some not-so-small, scampered and slunk through the tall grass, flowers and weeds. From here, the forest looked dark and forbidding though Ainsley knew that the most dangerous thing lurking, aside from a few hungry bears, were the humans who used the practice course as a shortcut from Laomainn to the next village. She neither knew nor would she care that this area eventually became known as the Trossachs National Park and that to the northeast would lay Queen Elizabeth Forest Park.

All that concerned the girl was getting in a few hours archery practice each day she was able to get away. These times were necessary if she were going to compete in the upcoming tournament held the weekend of the summer solstice coming up soon. It would improve her skills if Da would let her use one of the horses, but he denied her on the grounds that they were work animals and not meant for frivolous pursuits.

His constant refusal irked her, though she understood. As members of the farming class, they didn't have the luxury of keeping horses for anything other than pulling the wagon and plow. Sometimes, just to be perverse, Ainsley would pretend she was a long lost princess and that one day, her parents would come to take her with them to a grand castle perched on top of an enormous hill. Her days would be filled with riding her favorite horse, shooting her bow and sitting on the end of the dock with her toes dangling in the water.

But that wasn't her life. She, like the rest of the family, worked the fields, tended to the livestock and loved each other like there was no tomorrow.

Coming to her favorite spot, Ainsley removed her bow and quiver, setting them on the ground at her side. The pack she wore came off then she sat down with her legs crossed, the skirt of her dress covering them. Taking out a hard piece of wood, sheets of paper and several pieces of charcoal, she held them in her lap and closed her eyes, letting the breeze ruffle her long and very curly red hair.

Some who'd seen her said that Ainsley could be the younger sister of Princess Merida, who was also very adept at the bow. She dismissed these comments as nonsense. The delusions of men and women who spent too much time working and not enough of it playing. Ainsley was young, but had strong opinions about, well, everything, and wasn't shy about expressing them, often exasperating her parents and embarrassing her siblings. Her friends, however, completely understood whatever it was inside her head that made her so outspoken.

Ainsley had dreams of one day becoming the leader of their village. She'd expressed the desire one evening while the family sat around the table eating. Winifred and Brendan had laughed and her parents had given each other a look that she had been at a loss to interpret. It was as if each were blaming the other for her obstinacy and determination to do well for herself. Now that King Fergus and the allied clans had abolished the mandatory marriage law, there would be no selection of suitors paraded before her when she'd gone thirteen in just over a year. She didn't mention it, but she was very glad that His Majesty was so forward thinking. If arranged marriages were a thing of the past, how long would it be until women were afforded all the same choices that men had?

Looking down at the page in her lap, Ainsley saw that her hands had once again drawn something from beyond her conscious mind. Something that usually came to her only in dreams. She'd drawn the image of a boat that flew through the air as easily as it did on the water. The boat was so enormous it carried smaller versions of itself that could take off and land like birds, all while the ship sailed through the clouds.

The thundering of horse's hooves on the hard packed ground came from the forest sending her scurrying out of sight behind the rock against which she'd been leaning. As they passed, she heard voices. A man and a woman, both familiar.

The horses and riders burst out of the forest and into the sunlight, both laughing as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Natasha and Clint. What were they doing _here_ when they should be searching for their daughter? Every time she'd encountered them, Ainsley had gotten the sense that they were honest and forthright in the things they said. But now she began to question her own instincts. If they had lied about this, then why were they still here?

In the square the other day, Ainsley had seen the way Natasha had looked at each girl that had come near, assuming that she was hoping to see her child's face, though now, in her memory, Natasha's gaze seemed predatory. If they'd lied about something as important as looking for their daughter then what else had they lied about?

Ainsley gathered her things together to return home, wondering how she could have trusted to either of them.

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Dr. Diane Rankin, geneticist, formerly with SHIELD

Maidie, used to work for Griselda

Patrick, Maidie's husband

Colleen MacDill, seamstress

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 15**

Running through the forest, angry and hurt, Ainsley called herself all kinds of a fool to have believed Clint and Natasha had stopped in Laomainn looking for their child. But their presence here now and their laughter said something else altogether. There had been talk of men and women who took children and forced them to work their fields. Then there was the talk of children being used for other purposes, but she didn't believe it until now. If Clint and Natasha had come to Laomainn for that, then why hadn't they taken someone and gone?

Remembering the afternoon she'd spent talking with Clint, he'd not once made her feel afraid to be alone with him. He'd offered her a ride home, but hadn't insisted or gotten angry when she refused. Nor had she gotten the feeling from Mistress Lockhart. Shaking her head, Ainsley put a stop to the thoughts going round and round inside her head. Each question led the next in a circle until she came back to the first one. Why were they _here?_

The last several hundred yards had been a debate with herself as to whether or not she should tell Mum and Da of her suspicions. When she came into sight of the house, she stopped to rest, walking in a circle to keep her heart from slowing too quickly. Where the knowledge to do it had come from she didn't know, but if she listened in just the right way, she could hear a woman's voice soft and loving, telling her things she hadn't understood that made perfect sense now. They came to her at odd times, and were usually something she only vaguely recollected.

Along with the woman's voice, came other sounds, other voices. A man's voice singing to her. Another man asking her to call him "Uncle Nick." More sounds. More memories. Or _were_ they?

_Maybe I'm goin' dafty_, she thought. _Like Old Man MacDill._ There were stories told that MacDill had gone peculiar, talking of voices in his head telling him to go places and do things he shouldn't. She'd only met him the one time. After that, he hadn't been seen again.

Pulling her thoughts back to the original subject, she decided to give the couple a chance to tell the truth, and if they lied again, she would have nothing more to do with them.

"Och. There ye are, child." Her mother came toward her, always with a smile for her youngest. "We'll be having supper soon so goan wash up."

"Aye, Mum." Ainsley stopped in to wait for Edeen. "Mum, what's it like to be wed?"

Edeen paused a moment then continued walking. "Why would ye be askin' such a thing?"

Ainsley adjusted the bow string across her chest. Already her body was starting the changes that her mother and sister had warned her about. She'd also grown some just in the last few weeks making her skirts shorter though still a little long. That was something she actually liked as it meant she didn't have to worry as much about tripping on the hem when she ran. "What if I'm never ready t' be married?"

"Are ye asking because of Winifred's betrothal? She'll be married soon 'n should be with child by th' winter next."

She wanted to say that her thoughts had turned to _not_ taking a husband or having bairns, but she couldn't speak the words out loud. Not yet. "Aye. That's it. I recall Bren's marriage t' Cristie 'n th' birthin' o' George, but dinnae think it's for me now. Lindsey is already speakin' o' suitors 'n bein' betrothed 'n birthin'. And she's just gone twelve."

Edeen put her arm around Ainsley's shoulders. "Now don't be thinkin' that just because another is wantin' t' be wed 'n have lots of wee bebes that ye must do so as well. Th' want of a husband will come t' ye when ye're ready for it 'n not before."

"Thanks Mum."

"Ye're welcome, love. Now go wash for supper."

Feeling a little better, Ainsley got herself cleaned up for the evening meal.

~~O~~

Tired of sleeping in a tent and living off the land, Clint was ready to get back to what passed for civilization. Knowing that Natasha loved him enough to want to marry him made this time stuck in the past a little easier. The hard part of being here wasn't doing without his beloved gadgets though he really missed microwave popcorn. The most difficult thing was their decision to return home without Annabelle even though it had been his idea.

Carrying the tent, ropes and poles to the wagon, Clint stood for a moment, hands resting on the side wondering how his neatly ordered _single_ life could've gone to hell with one short phone call, recalling the memory as if it were yesterday.

"_My name is Dr. Diane Rankin. You don't know me, but I have something of yours."_

_Snorting, he replied, "How can you have something of mine if I don't know you?"_

"_It's a long story. Come to my lab in Newport News, I'll explain."_

_Clint was about to tell Rankin to go **** herself, but his curiosity was piqued. If this was an attempt to seduce him, an invitation to visit her lab wasn't going to do the job. "What time?"_

"_Let's say eight tonight? Oh, and bring Agent Romanoff with you."_

"_She's unavailable. It's just us, doc."_

_The amiable tone Rankin had used until then changed, her voice going harsh and demanding. "If she's not able to join us, then don't bothering coming yourself."_

Clint remembered the confusion and bewilderment, and the fact that Rankin had slammed the phone down after making her point. Somehow, the doctor must've known that the Russian was in town or she wouldn't have called. From a conversation that lasted less than three minutes, his world had changed in ways he couldn't have imagined before Annabelle. It had been that tiny baby who made him fall in love with Natasha.

Prior to that day, Natasha had always come across as cool and aloof, even with her friends, as if she were afraid to get too close. In her work, she was cunning and calculating. The times that she failed to bring a mission home were so few as to be insignificant.

Then Annabelle came into their lives and everything was different. Natasha's seldom seen softer side showed itself again and again, and always because of something that their child had done.

Shaking himself loose from the past, Clint made a turn around the campsite gathering up anything that shouldn't be left behind. The fact that disposable dishes and packaging hadn't yet been invented made it easy. He stopped beside, Natasha just putting on her boots. "Ready?"

Natasha had changed back into her skirt as was expected of women in this time. "Yes. Want me to drive?"

He waved a hand. "Have at it."

They climbed into the front of the wagon, and once he was seated, Natasha flicked the reins to get the horses moving. Natasha kept to herself on the ride and Clint, jostled gently by the motion of the wagon, dozed off until they came to a stop in front of the inn.

Inside, they were warmly greeted by everyone. When told the story that he and Natasha had agreed on, Griselda began to quietly weep. The child that they had thought was theirs was of the wrong age and had green eyes instead of blue. And though they protested, Tavish and his wife wouldn't hear of them staying anywhere else. Their hosts had kept the items they'd left behind, saying it was a message from God himself that the couple should remain at the inn.

By bedtime, Clint had secured a promise from Tavish to pay him a wage for providing entertainment two nights a week as well as helping out with repairs and errands. Natasha offered to take the place of Maidie in the kitchen after the wedding. The next day, Natasha planned to go to several of the shops to offer her services running errands and keeping an eye on the children so the mothers could get chores done.

Clint fell into bed with a groan. "After sleeping on the ground, this bed feels like heaven."

Curled against his side, Natasha sighed and closed her eyes. "Just remember we have jobs now. No sleeping late and drinking with Tavish and his pals 'till all hours."

Taking hold of her hand where it lay on his chest, he too closed his eyes, already half asleep. "Sleeping late to this group is not getting out of bed 'till the sun's already up."

Moaning sleepily, Natasha fumbled around until she found his cheek then patted it in a less than comforting manner. "Don't let it bother you, _LyubImaya__._"

Though drowsy, Clint rallied enough to say, "That's the first time you've ever called me sweetheart. Why's that?"

"We've never made love _or_ been engaged before, _opezdol._"

Wrapping Natasha in both arms, Clint grinned sleepily and kissed her forehead. "Mmm. _That's_ my girl."

~~O~~

Morning came too quickly for Ainsley who'd lain awake most of the night. Every time she closed her eyes, a melody kept her from falling asleep. She did get some rest, but not enough. What better time to have a talk with Clint and Mistress Lockhart, but how to do that?

She would go with her Da the next time he went into the village and wander off as she usually did. It would have to seem like a chance meeting starting with casual talk during which she would carefully question them. After that, well, she would just make a decision based on what they said.

Dressing for the day, Ainsley went to join her family for breakfast before heading out to the barn to tend the animals, wishing she were in the forest shooting her bow and climbing trees. Later, the entire family would ride into town for the wedding of one of their own. That was as good a place as any to get the information she wanted.

~~O~~

Many events were cause for celebration. Today the citizens of Laomainn would honor the union of Maidie and her betrothed, Patrick in a handfasting ceremony.

Standing in the back, Clint and Natasha watched as the young couple pledged their love and allegiance to each until death separated them. There were so many things Clint had done that would be thought of as strange to the average everyday citizen in the twenty-first century. They would be even more so to these fine people. One thing he'd never done was attend a wedding. He was a little nervous to be there and he wasn't certain if it was because it was his first time or if the cause was his inherent fear of commitment. Holding Natasha's hand helped alleviate some of the uneasiness. After all, _he_ wasn't getting married.

His thoughts skidded to a stop when he remembered that he and Natasha were engaged. He'd even told her he couldn't wait for them to be married. It had only been a few days and here he was already having second thoughts. To distract himself, he watched the crowd. Off to one side he spied Ainsley with her family. The young man holding a small boy and standing beside an attractive auburn haired girl had to be her brother, Brendan. The taller girl would be Winifred and the young man was the same one they'd seen the other night. He looked at Winifred with a light in his eyes that spoke of true love.

Ainsley, on the other hand, fidgeted and fussed, quieting momentarily when her mother or father shushed her then starting up again. Clint didn't blame her. He was never one for sitting still when he wasn't on an assignment. Even now, with Natasha to help calm him, he had the urge to slip away and go for a run.

Leaning close, he whispered, "I'm gonna take a walk."

In the same quiet voice, Natasha said, "Don't be gone long. We'll be expected to greet the newlyweds before the reception."

"_Feast_ is the word you're looking for."

"Feast then. Just don't get lost."

Staying close to the building, Clint made his way around to the side of the building they were standing in front of until he came to a small balcony. Backing up, Clint stood on a wooden barrel, using it to boost himself high enough to reach the balcony. More jumping, climbing and scrambling, and eventually he reached the roof. He ran along the highest point to the front and climbed down to the balcony facing the square, not surprised at finding Ainsley just coming over the rail.

Without a word, he sat down with his feet hanging over the side and she did the same. Now that he was high above everything, his anxiety faded. He didn't know why, but heights had always had that effect on him. Ainsley too, to go by the expression on her face. Facing forward, he kept her in his periphery. Every few seconds she would sneak a look at him, her eyebrows pulled down in thought reminding him of Natasha in one of her contemplative moods.

The ceremony was nearly over when Ainsley seemed to make a decision. She turned to him, her blue eyes wide and just a little suspicious. Whatever was on her mind, he was ready for it. Or thought he was.

"Why did ye lie t' Mum 'n Da?" she demanded.

Blinking at the vehemence in her tone, Clint thought, _Whoa! She sounds just like Nat!_

~~O~~

Ainsley didn't know what made her just blurt out the question like an accusation, blowing all her carefully made plans to bits. But now that it was out there, she couldn't take it back. Her mum had always said that the eyes told the truth. She watched Clint's now, needing to know if he was lying again.

He turned to look at her, his features neutral. "What makes ye say that?"

"I were in th' forest when ye 'n Mistress Lockhart were ridin' on th' path laughin' 'n carryin' on. Ye told Mum 'n Da ye were lookin' for yer wee daughter." Clint had the grace to be embarrassed, though that didn't ring completely true. He folded his hands together and sighed. It was a sad sort of expression that made Ainsley sorry that she'd confronted him.

"Truth is we did find our daughter. But when we went t' th' home of th' family she's been living with these past years, we could see that they loved her as much as we do 'n would've been devastated t' have her taken from them so abruptly. So, Natasha 'n I made th' difficult decision t' leave her with th' only family she's known."

Ainsley was immediately sorry that she'd thought the worst of two people who had shown nothing but kindness and consideration to everyone they encountered. After a long moment, she asked, "What's she like, yer daughter?"

He gave her a long contemplative stare, that same sad smile including pride. "She's smart, strong, opinionated, kind, compassionate, 'n as beautiful as her mum." His elbow nudged her. "Much like yerself."

There was applause and cheers for the newly married couple interrupting their conversation. Clint got to his feet, climbed over the railing to hang from his hands. He swung his legs to gain momentum, releasing at the highest point, performing a somersault and landing on both feet.

Looking up at Ainsley, Clint seemed to be daring her to do the same. Accepting his unspoken challenge, she copied his movements and soon found herself hanging from the balcony. Just as he'd done, she used her legs to get moving, but she let go too soon and found herself falling. She came to an abrupt stop shy of hitting the ground. Panting, she looked into the face of her savior. Clint had caught her in his arms. He put her on her feet and stepped back. "Looks like ya need a wee more practice."

Her breathing returned to normal just as Mistress Lockhart joined them. "Aye. It be this dress too. Pantaloons would be more practical, but Mum 'n Da say that a lady disnae wear them."

Mistress Lockhart looked at Clint as if they shared a secret. "Ye'd be surprised how ladylike wearin' pantaloons can be. But its best t' do as yer mum 'n da tell ye."

"Ainsley!"

She turned at the sound of her mother's voice. Smiling an apology, she bid them good-bye and went to join her family.

~~O~~

Across the square, Edeen saw her youngest sitting on that same balcony she favored when they came into the village to sell their wares, only this time she had company. Master Lockhart, Clint was with her and the two of them were thick as thieves. After he and his wife had left the other night, Edeen still hadn't been able to slow her racing heart. Somehow she and her family had taken in their kidnapped daughter and raised her as their own. She knew that they knew, and yet the couple had devised a hastily made up lie for their presence and left without her. Had they seen Edeen's near panic that the child she'd raised as hers would be taken from her?

And here they were, back in town with Clint and his wife talking to Ainsley. Just for a moment, she wondered what they were talking about, but she needn't have worried. Clint and Natasha had gone without taking Ainsley before. She doubted they would now, but the fear lingered.

But were these people really Ainsley's true parents? They'd said their daughter had only been gone a few years, yet Ainsley had been with their family for going on ten. Why the vast difference in the time? Or did the Lockharts have something else in mind? Whatever it was, they'd not take her child. Edeen would see to it.

~~O~~

The next morning, Natasha came down the stairs to find Clint already eating breakfast. He always sat with his back to the corner. At home, she would often find him in the same position in the helicarrier's mess hall, sipping coffee, eating a huge breakfast and reading from a tablet. Now he drank tea and ate porridge, but instead of reading, he was writing on sheets of paper.

She sat beside him offering a morning kiss. "What're you doing?"

Clint handed her one of the pages he'd already completed. "Each clan is having an archery tournament at the summer solstice festival. The winners will be sent to the Queen's birthday celebration to compete against the other clans."

"And you're entering?"

"Of course. Won't be able to go to the celebration, but I could use the competition. Don't wanna get rusty."

Gathering the pages in a stack, Natasha set them out of the way as Aileen brought her tea and a bowl of porridge. She gave the girl a smile of thanks and rushed through her meal so she could get to work in the garden before the heat of the day made being in the sun unbearable. Getting to her feet, she touched Clint on the shoulder. "Want help putting the flyers up?"

He shook no. "It won't take long."

Natasha waited until she reached the kitchen door to look over her shoulder to find Clint watching her. She flashed him the sign for "I love you" then ducked out the back door before he could respond.

Hours later, she returned to the kitchen with baskets of herbs and vegetables. Before she could ask if they wanted help, Dolina and Aileen had taken her offering and gotten to work on it.

"Griselda, I've nothing to wear t' th' festival. Where might I get somethin' made?"

The older woman wiped her flour covered hands on her apron as she went to the fire to stir a huge pot. She tasted the contents, added some spices and stirred again. "Ye'll be wantin' t' see Colleen MacDill. Since her husband passed on, she makes her livin' sewin' for thems that don't have time or skill."

"Sounds perfect. Her shop's on th' square?"

"Aye. Just tell her I sent ye."

On impulse, Natasha hugged the older woman, careful not to get flour all over her clothing. The morning had been relatively cool, and when it started warming up, she'd come in. Draping a cloak around her shoulders, she pulled the hood up to protect her face from the sun.

Natasha circled the square left to right until she located the seamstress's store. It was also likely that she lived in the back. Pushing open the door caused a bell to ring. From another room, a voice called out, "_I'll be there in a moment, love_."

"No hurry. Take your time."

A few minutes later, a woman barely five feet tall and more than a little on the plump side bustled out carrying stacks of fabric. Natasha rushed to help her. "Thanks, love. Just put them here." She pushed gray hair out of her face, her eyes falling on her guest. "Oh, hullo. Who're you then?"

"Griselda sent me. My name's Natasha Lockhart. My husband and I have only just arrived in Laomainn. And you're Mistress MacDill?"

"That I am. But call me Colleen. Will ye be stayin' a while?"

Busying her hands straightening the cloth, Natasha avoided looking at the woman. Not to keep her from seeing the lies she was telling, but because this was the first time she said out loud that Clint was her husband. It sounded odd and strangely… right for some reason. She knew the reason, but pushed it away for the moment. "It's not certain as yet, Colleen. We've been travelin' for some time 'n I have nothin' suitable t' wear for th' festival. My husband will be competing 'n I'll be needin' somethin' special."

"Oh, love, the Lord is with ye today. I've _just_ th' thing." She hurried into the back raising her voice to be heard. "'N what clan might ye be aligned with?"

Though she should've anticipated the question, Natasha hadn't and therefore didn't have a ready answer. Thinking quickly, she said, "Th' marriage was forbidden because our families belonged t' rival clans, so ye might say we have none."

"Well then perhaps ye'll find Laomainn t' yer likin' 'n decide t' stay with Clan Campbell."

"Perhaps."

Colleen came from the other room and the thing she carried took Natasha's breath away. "It's beautiful."

"It was made for the daughter of the blacksmith, but she chose as you did. To marry a man of a rival clan."

"I'm sorry. He must miss her very much."

Colleen giggled as she fitted the dress over a dressmaker's stand. "Och, nae. She 'n her man live on a farm outside of th' village proper. But she had no need o' th' dress as there was no engagement. They just ran off t' marry in th' next town, comin' back a few days later. They've three children now." The older woman fluffed the skirt, comparing the length to Natasha's height. "It'll need takin' up some. Mia's more tallish than yerself. Now go in th' back 'n put it on. Let's see how it looks."

With an impertinent smile, Natasha said, "Yes, Mistress MacDill."

She came out a few minutes later holding the skirt so she wouldn't trip. Letting it drop, she saw it was at least four inches too long. "Goan stand over here 'n we'll fix ye up proper."

Obediently, she stepped up onto the stool while Colleen measured and pinned the hem. Even after just a few days, Natasha would miss this place and the people when she returned home, knowing they would all have been dead a very long time.

~~O~~

When he finished putting up the flyers advertising the tournament, Clint wandered aimlessly around the square until he saw the sign for the seamstress. Peeking in the window he saw a woman with white hair sitting at a long table hand sewing blue-ish material, the stitches tiny and even. Her nimble fingers worked quickly, making short work of taking in the side seam of the dress. He knocked and was admitted.

"What can I do for ye?"

"I'm new to Laomainn. The archery tournament's comin' up 'n…"

The woman scurried to the other end of the room and back carrying a large bolt of plaid cloth in blue, green and black he'd seen Tavish and the other men wearing. It was the tartan for Clan Campbell. "I've got just what ye need. Now stand over there 'n I'll get t' th' measurin'."

He did as she said standing patiently as she did what she needed to. She wrapped the cloth around him to get the proper length, but halfway through the process, Clint stopped her. "I'm sorry. Can we do the kilt for the Queen's celebration? I've somethin' else in mind for the tournament."

Clint helped Colleen fold the material while he laid out his idea. With a smile, the seamstress agreed and began working immediately.

~~O~~

The morning of the festival, Natasha awoke to find Clint had eaten breakfast and gone out over an hour before. Good. The dress that Colleen fitted to her would be ready in time to meet him before the archery contest. After her bath, she went to the kitchen to speak to Griselda. "Yer sure I cannae help?"

"Och, nae. Me 'n th' lasses'll be fine. Ye just goan t' Colleen's 'n get ready for yer man."

As Natasha let herself out the side door of the inn, she reflected that the dress she would be wearing was beautiful and exquisitely made. It was too bad she couldn't take it back home with her. When she'd inquired as to the price, Colleen refused to discuss payment of any sort and Natasha had agreed because she thought it would knock Clint's socks off. Searching her memory, she found more than a few instances where she'd done something only because it would please Clint. Preferring to not examine too closely the reason why, she lifted the hem of her skirt and turned in the direction of the square.

~~O~~

In the back room of Colleen's shop, Clint dressed in the clothing that the seamstress had fitted to him from those she already had. The final touch was the dagger and its sheath he'd purchased on the visit to Del's shop behind the blacksmith strapped around his waist, hoping that Natasha would enjoy the roguish look. He thought it suited him, but he'd worn it more for Natasha than himself, picturing her face when she saw him in it.

He loved everything about his fiancée. Her smile, sense of humor, intelligence, emotional and physical strength. But most of all, he loved her walk! That perfectly shaped backside made a lazy figure eight as she walked, with just enough of a runway strut to turn the heads of every man in the vicinity and at the same time tell them "I'm so far out of your league that if your league were to explode, I wouldn't hear the sound for at least two days."

Clint wondered if he was foolish to think he was worthy of a woman like Natasha. As a husband, could he make her happy, treat her the way she deserved to be treated? With everything that had been done to her in the 2R facility, would it even be possible for them to grow old together? He was willing to try and now that he knew she loved him too, they'd try together.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Griselda called out from the kitchen, "That be ye, Clint?"

"Aye, Griselda." He headed in that direction just as she came out, her mouth dropping open when she saw him.

"Saints preserve us! Don't you look a sight!" She mimed turning and he obligingly did a spin. When he faced her again, she had both hands to her face in shock.

"What d'you think?"

Griselda smiled. "I'm thinkin' ye'll be one o' th' handsomest lads at th' festival after my Tavish. Natasha will swoon."

Feeling greatly daring, Clint winked at her and grinned. "Hope so."

He offered to help the women bring the food to the competition, but the innkeeper declined, so off he went.

With enthusiasm he didn't feel, Clint rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I am ready t' get t' it!"

"Let's away, m' laddie. Today," the big man thumped his chest, "we ride in style."

Thinking that Tavish meant they'd be taking the horse and buggy, Clint was surprised to find out that the innkeeper had arranged for them to use two of Macduff's prized horses. The one assigned to Clint was all black except for the long hairs around the lower part of the animal's legs reminding him of Clydesdales though they were a few hands smaller. He leapt onto the animal's back using his mane to steer and to keep from being thrown after he took off at a fast gallop.

There was a loud whoop and when Clint looked to his left, Tavish was there grinning, only one hand holding on. "Gie it laldy, m' lad!"

Off he went, and was soon lost to sight. On the road alone, Clint slowed his beast down to a trot when he heard the ringing of bells, assuming that someone was coming up behind him and that it was the medieval version of honking the horn. No one came alongside within a reasonable amount of time causing Clint to look over his shoulder, but the only other person was on a buckboard too far away to have been the bell ringer. Then, he realized that the ringing was inside his head. Sticking a finger in his right ear, he wiggled it to abate the noise, then switched and did the other ear. Eventually, he could once again hear birds chirping and the breeze fluttering the leaves.

Before he reached the field where the games were to be at the north end of town, Clint heard music playing. He enjoyed the sound of bagpipes though he never had the urge to learn. And the song that was playing he sort of recognized as a traditional Scottish song played only on special occasions. That had to mean Tavish would be making his opening speech soon.

Clint dismounted and handed the horse over to the man in charge. Breaking into a jog, arrived just in time to miss most of Tavish's welcome and enumeration of the events planned for the day. He looked around and spotted Cullen, Del and a few of the others from the night they all got drunk. Nodding a greeting, he scanned the crowd looking for Natasha, spying her red hair making its way through the crowd.

She too was turning her head this way and that, hopefully looking for him. And when her eyes fell on his, she smiled in a way that was the same yet different than she'd bestowed on him in the past when they weren't on an op, and he found himself returning it even as his breath was taken away.

As the crowd parted to let her through-she had that effect on people everywhere-the entirety of her was revealed. The dress she wore skimmed lovingly over her slim body. Made from cotton or linen- he couldn't tell-it was the color of turquoise, but darker making her red hair look vibrant, pulsing with energy. The drop waist was enhanced by a blue, green and black belt. The colors and pattern, the tartan of the Campbell clan, were repeated around the neckline, cuffs, along the outer seam of the sleeves and the hem of the full skirt. The laces along both sides and on the sleeves drew his eye in all directions.

Around her neck was a pendant in silver or pewter, the emblem of Clan Campbell, and across her forehead was a metal band with a design similar to the clan emblem, again in silver or pewter. If she'd been playing royalty, he would've called it a crown. Whatever it was, it made Natasha look regal. When she was close enough, he said, "You look amazing."

Before responding, she dropped her gaze down to his feet and up to his face. "You too."

Waving a hand at himself, he gave her a lopsided grin. "This old thing? It's been in my closet for years."

Poking him in the chest, Natasha returned the grin. "Thought you'd be in a kilt."

"Maybe next time." Extending his elbow, he waited for her to take it and she did without hesitation. "Shall we mingle with the rest of the peasants?"

"I'd be delighted."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive brother

Cristie McKenna, Brendan's wife

George McKenna, Brendan's son

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive sister

Adam Wallis, Winifred's betrothed

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Crom Gilroy, Tavish's friend

Duncan, Ainsley's friend

Cawley, Ainsley's friend

Lindsey, Ainsley's friend

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 16**

Carefully making her way through the crowd, Natasha felt conspicuous, as if everyone were staring at her, though in a good way. As a spy, it was her nature to go unnoticed, _if_ she chose to. And now she was being watched by Clint. No one else was looking at her aside from casual glances though they did move out of her way as she weaved through the crowd.

When Clint came into view, she paused to admire the way he looked. He wore another of the white shirts that she secretly called a pirate shirt, but it was what he wore with it that caught her eye. The leather vest looked soft and durable at the same time. The laces had been replaced with buckles, the neck open with a collar that flared out leaving a wedge of his chest bare. A belt cinched his waist and on the left hung a dagger that he'd obviously bought for this occasion. His hands and forearms were encased in leather fingerless gloves. He'd wanted to dress like a pirate and she had to admit that the look suited him well. His eyes met hers and that slow grin flowed across his features like mists on the moor, but instead of the dampness and chill, it brought with it light and warmth. No, more than warmth. Heat and lots of it. _Maybe we can slip away after the contest._

His voice was reverential, as if he'd been surprised in a good way. "You look…amazing."

He did too, but the words stuck in her throat so that all she could say was, "You too."

Wrapping the fingers of her left hand around his arm, she used the right to lift the hem of the dress just high enough so that she could walk without tripping. Not that she had anything to worry about. She could always count on Clint to catch her if she fell, and she would do likewise, no matter what. As long as they'd known each other, they always had each other's back, but did they have what it took to be a married couple for real? Playing husband and wife could be fun now that sex had entered the picture. But could they keep this love alive for the rest of their lives? Natasha had no idea. No one could predict the future, so she made the decision then and there that she-_they_ would do whatever it took to make a successful marriage.

All that remained was the re-proposal and the wedding to get through. It saddened her that Ainsley wouldn't be there for that special day, but it was the choice they made and she would stick by it. But for the moment, she would just enjoy being in Clint's company.

~~O~~

"…and the archery tournament will commence two hours before sundown. If ye've entered, come early t' set up. And now, on with th' games!"

Standing next to Natasha, Clint clapped and hooted along with the crowd as Tavish concluded his long and boring speech. The man knew how to play to the audience. It was just that Clint bored easily and especially at long speeches. Taking Natasha's hand, he lowered his voice, "I'm not participating, but you go."

"You now as well as I do that women aren't permitted to play in the games. Besides, I wouldn't want to damage their egos when we have no escape plan."

"We _have_ a plan. The flaw in it is that we have to rely on other people to hold up their end. That's why I'd rather work alone. Or with you."

He looked down and Natasha was looking up at him, lips pursed as if she were trying not to laugh then, she smiled. "Is that the only reason you keep me around?"

Crossing his arms and forcing himself to frown, he stared off into the distance where a group of men were playing a form of lacrosse. "What other reason would there be?"

"None. I was just making conversation." Again, she tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow. "Clint, I…"

"Clint! Clint!"

The archer recognized the voice, looking around to find the source and smiling as Ainsley came running, followed by her family. She had her bow and quiver with her, wearing is as most young girls would a purse. "Good day, Ainsley."

"Hello again," Natasha greeted the girl with a nod.

As the patriarch, Gavin made introductions for the rest of the family. "Clint and Natasha, this be our oldest daughter, Winifred, her betrothed, Adam, our son, Brenden, his wife, Cristie and their son, George."

They all nodded a greeting to each other, Clint speaking for himself and Natasha. "Pleased to meet all of you. We were about to get something to eat. Our landlady, Griselda Campbell has been cooking for days. Care t' join us?"

"Thank ye, but we're off t' watch th' games," Gavin told them. After taking their leave, the McKenna family moved away, soon swallowed up by the crowd.

Clint wanted to watch himself, but stayed with Natasha. As she moved, the material of her dress pulled tight over her chest emphasizing her considerable assets. Looking away before she got it into her head to punch his lights out, Clint rubbed the back of his neck glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the games.

Natasha saw and smiled magnanimously. "Go. Just stay out of trouble."

Grinning, Clint gave Natasha a quick kiss and headed off. As he turned the corner of food court tent, he was confronted by Crom Gilroy giving off a strong alcohol stench. He stood there swaying on his feet. "Yer still about, I see. Thought ye'd goan after our last grapple."

"That _grapple_ ended with ye carried home in disgrace. If ye want t' go another round, ye'd do well t' remember." To show his disdain for the drunken pig, Clint turned his back and walked away only to have Gilroy clap a hand on his shoulder. Without thinking, Clint did what came naturally. He grabbed Gilroy's hand, pulled him into a wrist lock and down to the ground on his stomach with Clint on one knee beside him. A gasp drew the archer's attention to the fact that he was now being watched by a small crowd. Getting to his feet, Clint ducked his head and strode quickly in the direction of the games.

Behind him he could hear someone helping Gilroy to his feet and the humiliated man swearing he'd get revenge on Clint. Unconcerned except that innocent bystanders could be hurt, Clint made a mental note to keep out of the man's way for the remainder of their stay in Laomainn.

~~O~~

Hiding behind one of the food tents, Ainsley stuck her head out followed by her friends Lindsey, Cawley and Duncan. All four were of an age and more or less the same height, but that's where the similarities ended. Cawley and Lindsey were cousins who shared the same blonde hair, the boy with green eyes and the girl with brown. Duncan's black hair, worn below his shoulders, set off his blue eyes and lightly freckled skin. He was also the biggest talker of the group right after Ainsley. And though the boys tried to take control, Ainsley just plowed ahead with her own ideas, forcing the others to follow or be left behind.

"Why we followin' 'im?" Duncan wanted to know.

Motioning for them to hurry, Ainsley darted from their hiding place, her keen eyes scanning the crowd. She spotted Clint up ahead, down on one knee and that horrible Master Gilroy face down in the dirt. Clint released Gilroy and rushed away without looking back. "I've got m' suspicions 'n want t' see where he goes."

Rolling her eyes, Duncan huffed. "Suspicions? Now ye've gone dafty fer sure. All he's done is put that horrid Master Gilroy in his place."

"I seen Clin yesterday week in th' forest. He were play fightin'."

Cawley tugged at Ainsley's sleeve. "He were _what?_"

"_Play_ fightin'." Ainsley swung her arms in imitation. "Like he were battlin' spirits. Only it weren't any kind o' fightin' I've ever seen."

Duncan snorted, the left side of his mouth turned up in a half-grin. "Ye've not been in battle. What do _ye_ know o' fightin'?"

Not wanting to explain, Ainsley didn't respond. Up ahead, Clint disappeared between two tents so quickly the group had to run to catch up. They crept slowly to the edge, Ainsley slowly peering around the corner, all four of them screaming when Clint jumped out at them. "Boo!"

The kids backed up a few steps, their eyes wide, the other three hiding behind Ainsley. His look of reproach was met boldly by the red-haired girl though she was confused by the word. "What's that mean then?"

Clint crossed his arms, his gaze flitting from one face to the other and back to the ringleader. "It means _why_ are ye followin' me?"

Ainsley too crossed her arms, leveling her gaze at him in the same way. "That dinnae make sense."

"Fine. It's used t' scare children who stick their noses in where they dinnae belong." He turned and walked away then stopped. "Well, come on then. We'll get us a snack."

The kids hurried after him, Ainsley and Duncan at the back. The boy whispered, "He's a dafty way o' speakin'. Think he's goan peculiar like Old Man MacDill?"

The girl shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno. Maybe." She shushed Duncan as they entered the tent where Mistress Campbell and her girls served up a variety of foods. The scents of which made Ainsley's stomach grumble.

Griselda greeted them warmly. "Clint, love. I see ye brought some friends with ye."

"Aye, Griselda. We're in want o' something t' ease our hunger before th' tournament." The older woman nodded to Dolina and the dark-haired girl served up a small bit of every dish for each of the children. They took the plates and started away, coming to a halt when Clint whistled. "What d'ye say?"

Guiltily, each child muttered, "Thank ye, Miss" and scurried away before Clint could take them to task again. Ainsley, ever the trailblazer, glared at her companions warning them to wait for their benefactor. When he arrived, he took a seat at the opposite end as if he didn't want to be near her. Come to think of it, he'd done so since their first meeting, but now it seemed more deliberate. The expression on his face had changed as well. It was more sad like now. Probably due to the loss of his own child.

To hide her expression, she bowed her head to say grace. Squinting, Ainsley saw Clint belatedly bow his head too, giving her the impression that it wasn't something he did on a regular basis. "Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we thine unworthy servants do give thee most humble 'n hearty thanks for all thy goodness 'n loving kindness t' us 'n t' all men…"

At the conclusion, Ainsley heard Clint also utter Amen with the rest. Again, it seemed as if he'd not done so in quite some time, and she wondered if it had to do with the loss of his child. If that be the case, she was now heartily sorry for the things she'd been thinking about him. Her plans to question him about the play fighting went up in a puff of smoke. Instead, she asked him, "Will ye be in th' tournament, Clint?"

His mouth full of food, he nodded. When he was able to talk again, he asked, "'N yerself?"

"Aye. M' family thinks I'm dafty, but they dinnae try t' stop me." He chuckled, and Ainsley smiled at the sound.

"Ye'd've done it still, I'm thinkin'."

At Clint's teasing tone, Ainsley couldn't help laughing, slapping a hand over her mouth and blushing when it ended on a snort. The blush deepened when Clint and her friends laughed as well. Ignoring them, she picked up her spoon and started eating. A few minutes later, she sensed she was being watched.

Again, Clint looked at her in that odd way, this time he seemed disheartened rather than just sad. Abruptly, he stood up. "See ye at th' tournament, Ainsley."

He was gone before she could respond.

~~O~~

After Clint and his pals left, Natasha came to the tent the help. When the crowds coming in slowed down to just a few now and then instead of the steady stream it had been in the beginning, she removed her apron, sighing wearily. More tired than she should be from serving food, Natasha gathered her belongings and left.

Stopping at a small tent, she paid for a tankard of mulled wine, sipping as she strolled past the vendors selling their wares, marveling at the joy that these people got from just being together. She missed home, but she would also miss this place and the people when she was gone. _Especially_ the people. The simplicity of life appealed to her, and it seemed to do the same for Clint. She'd seldom seen him as relaxed as he'd been since they'd come to this place.

She finished the wine and set the tankard on one of the tables provided, scrunching her forehead when music floated to her on the slight breeze. Following the sounds, she came upon a sight she didn't see often enough. Clint was on stage with a group of other musicians playing a fast paced song that had everyone in the audience, her included tapping their feet. A man about Clint's age played a fiddle while another sang and banged a drum.

When the song ended, Natasha clapped with the crowd. Someone tapped her on the arm and she looked down to see Edeen and Ainsley sitting in the back row. They scooted over to make space for her and she gladly joined them.

The singer introduced Clint. He nodded and smiled, giving a quick wave to the crowd. He strummed a few chords then began to sing a song she'd heard him do before. Technically, it wasn't a Scottish song, but she didn't think anyone would be able to tell.

_A long time ago, when the Earth was green,  
There was more kinds of animals than you've ever seen.  
And they'd run around free when the Earth was being born,  
And the loveliest of 'em all was the unicorn._

_There was green alligators and long-necked geese,  
Some humpty backed camels and some chimpanzees.  
Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born,  
The loveliest of all was the unicorn._

The song was a big hit to go by the applause when the song ended with a flourish. The crowd quieted as Clint dragged a chair to the center of the stage, a signal that the next song would be slow and leisurely. The sort of tune one would sing to a child at bedtime. The sentiment translated well to any culture or any time. This one had been a favorite of Annabelle's and probably the reason Clint chose to play it. Glancing at the girl sitting beside her, Natasha wondered if she remembered.

_By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,  
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond  
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,  
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond._

_Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road,  
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,  
But me and my true love will never meet again,  
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond._

'_Twas then that we parted, In yon shady glen,  
On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond,  
Where, in purple hue, The highland hills we view,  
And the moon coming out in the gloaming._

_The wee birdies sing, And the wild flowers spring,  
And in sunshine the waters sleeping.  
But the broken heart it kens, Nae second spring again,  
Though the waeful may cease frae their greeting._

_Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road,  
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,  
But me and my true love will never meet again,  
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond._

Natasha felt Edeen shift in her seat and when she looked, she'd put an arm around Ainsley, but the girl didn't seem to notice. Ainsley was staring at Clint with the oddest expression then the spell was broken by applause. She bid Edeen and her daughter good day and went to catch up with Clint. "I think you have a new fan."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Two actually, more to go by the looks from the women and children. Ainsley and Edeen." Natasha brushed her knuckles against Clint's where his hand hung at his side. He didn't seem to notice, but she knew better. He noticed everything. Allowing their skin to stay in contact, she moved her hand around until she could weave their fingers together, Clint giving her a small squeeze while his eyes looked into hers. It felt good to touch him like this and not be playing a role. It felt like a promise. "I have to get back to help with serving, but I'll be there to watch you shoot."

Clint claimed a quick kiss before jogging out of sight.

~~O~~

Standing apart from the other contestants in the tournament, Clint painstakingly checked each arrow and went over every inch of the bow. And when he was done, he did it again. Not that he was nervous. He'd been in similar situations hundreds of times and had always come through with the goods. Hadn't he blown Loki out of the sky when he'd tried to kill Natasha during the invasion? So what if the SOB didn't die? It was Clint's intervention that knocked Loki onto the balcony of Stark Tower where the Other Guy took him out.

Clint was arrogant and less than humble concerning his abilities, but then he had good reason to be. Jacques Duquesne and Buck Chisolm, otherwise known as The Swordsman and Trickshot respectively, had seen Clint's potential when he was but twelve years old, thus beginning a period of highs and lows. His intense training had been interspersed with long moments of disappointment and loneliness. He remembered catching the Swordsman counting the money he'd stolen from the carnival then Barney's rejection when Clint refused to join Jacques in his life of crime. Trickshot had taken the boy under his wing and at his urging he'd joined his sole mentor on a raid in which Clint had injured a guard that turned out to be his brother. Barney eventually died of his injuries, and Clint blamed Trickshot, abandoning him to roam the country, taking work in carnivals under the name Hawkeye. Then, one day he met a man who changed his life forever: Phil Coulson.

The contestants were called to line up, Clint taking his place, and over the next hour proceeded to blow each of them out of the water. Eventually it was down to Clint and one other. He wasn't surprised to see that his final opponent was Ainsley. The girl came to stand next to him as the announcer gave their names.

Clint took his place, nocked the arrow and sighted on the target. For him, this was an easy win. All he had to do was hit the center of the yellow and he'd be the victor. He pulled the bowstring back to the anchor point, exhaled, and released. His arrow hit the target a little to the left of the center circle. Not a bad shot, just not as good as it needed to be.

He stepped out of the way as Ainsley moved into her stance, nocked the arrow, took aim, inhaled, exhaled and released. Ainsley's arrow hit the target dead center of the bull's eye. The crowd cheered, the loudest being the McKenna family. Glancing over the sea of faces, Clint saw Natasha glowing with pride in their daughter's accomplishment, even if they couldn't say so.

The announcer came forward to congratulate her while family and friends swarmed around her. Feeling good about his showing, Clint went to join Natasha. She didn't say anything, just gave him one of her looks. "What?"

That stare stayed in place another few seconds then, "Nothing."

Clint shrugged one shoulder and turned to watch Ainsley receive her award and prize money.

~~O~~

Basking in the triumph of her win in the archery tournament as well as being the first female child allowed to compete, Ainsley silently seethed inside. She'd seen Clint's barely noticeable hesitation just before his last shot.

He and Mistress Lockhart spoke quietly then walked to the target to remove his arrow. Excusing herself, she stalked over to join them. Natasha smiled broadly at her approach. "Congratulations, Ainsley. That was a brilliant performance."

Sparing Natasha just a brief nod of appreciation, Ainsley jammed boney fists into her narrow hips and glared up at Clint. "Ye lost on purpose. Why?"

~~O~~

Natasha, now standing behind Ainsley, pursed her lips in that "I told you so" smirk she did so well making Clint feel all the more guilty for his actions. His bow and quiver felt like they were biting into his chest, his hands wanting to tug at them to ease the constriction. But Clint knew that the phantom feeling came from his conscience rather than from any real threat to his health. In an attempt to play it off, he gave Ainsley a small smile of bemusement though he was disconcerted to see Natasha's death glare coming from someone so young. "What makes ye think…"

"Argh! I _know_ what ye did!" She took another step forward, her hands dropping to her sides. "Ye could easily have won, but ye chose not to. Do ya think I'm a wee bebe who cannae handle losin' to a-a," she gestured angrily then shoved a leather pouch into his hands. "Here. I willnae take what is rightfully yers."

"I cannae take this, Ainsley. Ye were th' winner."

"Nae." Shaking her head sadly, Ainsley refused his attempts to get her to take the purse. "Ye dinnae perform honorably, but ye deserve th' prize." With that parting shot, she turned on her heel, long red hair flying, and stalked away, grumbling under her breath. Natasha watched the girl until she was out of hearing range then turned that smirk on Clint again. This one telling him he'd been an idiot. At the moment, he didn't disagree.

Seeing the humiliated expression on his face, Natasha's smirk turned to sympathy. "She took you apart like an expert. It was actually pretty painful to watch."

Thumb tucked into his belt, Clint sighed heavily. "Not half as painful as it was to experience."

"She was right, you know."

"Yeah. And that's what hurts the most."

Natasha sad smile came back. "I'll go and let you wallow in peace."

Reaching for her hand, Clint held her in place. Not easy as she was determined to leave. "Don't. Let's just go back to the inn."

"Okay. I have to stop at the food tent on the way."

Clint nodded and they walked in silence for a while. He hadn't been kidding. Having his daughter accuse him of being dishonorable had hurt like nothing ever had before. It didn't help having Natasha point out the flaw in his thinking. "You could've come to my defense, you know."

"And have her mad at me too? No thanks."

The wind picked up making the tents shake. Small items that weren't weighted down tripped and danced across their path. Natasha gathered her hair in one hand to keep it out of her face just as they reached the caber toss. They stopped for a moment to watch Tavish warming up then Natasha continued on leaving Clint to watch alone.

Interlocking his hands under the rounded end, Tavish settled the heavy piece of wood against his shoulder and neck, preparing for his first of three tries.

Off to one side, Clint spied Crom Gilroy staggering toward the field, a tankard in one hand. The man was so drunk he didn't hear the crowd calling out for him to stop. Clint saw a disaster in the making and acted accordingly. He unslung his bow and quiver, dropping them to the ground and running to head off the other man.

Tavish saw Gilroy coming, but he'd already committed to flipping the caber. Women and children screamed and several other men also attempted to stop Gilroy, but Clint was way ahead of everyone. He dove into a tackle that took him and Gilroy to the ground, the tankard flying off to land several feet away. Clint ducked and covered to protect both himself and Gilroy, the crowd gasping as the caber came down to land on the heavy end. As if in slow motion, it came down on Clint's upper back and side of his head. It was a glancing blow, but still hard enough to force a grunt out of him.

~~O~~

Sitting in the tent with Griselda, Aileen and Dolina, Natasha allowed herself a few moments to imagine what life would be like if Annabelle had grown to Ainsley's age and she had been able to see it first-hand. She was startled out of her thoughts when Ainsley's friend Duncan came running through the crowd calling to her, "Mistress Lockhart! Master Campbell sent me t' chive ye along! Please Miss. Ye've got t' hurry!"

Griselda touched the boy on the arm. "Noo jist haud on! Quit yer bletherin', lad. What be th' problem?"

The boy gulped air, trying to calm down. "It's yer husband, Miss. He's been hurt."

Not caring what people thought of her, Natasha pulled the sides of her skirt up to her knees and took off running so fast the boy could barely keep up. She arrived at the field just as Clint was being helped to a sitting position. Tavish crouched in front of him obviously asking it he was hurt. Clint shook his head and pointed at his ears. With a huff, Crom got to his feet, seeing Natasha's approach.

She dropped to her knees next to Clint, a hand on his shoulder. "Clint? Where are you hurt?"

He circled his finger around his ear, speaking too loud, "What did you say?"

Natasha had been dreading this day since she found out about his run-in with Crossfire and how he'd broken free of the weapon's influence. Clint had finally gone deaf.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive brother

Cristie McKenna, Brendan's wife

George McKenna, Brendan's son

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive sister

Adam Wallis, Winifred's betrothed

Tavish Campbell, owner of The Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Crom Gilroy, Tavish's friend

Duncan, Ainsley's friend

Cawley, Ainsley's friend

Lindsey, Ainsley's friend

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 17**

Turning Clint to face her, Natasha used ASL to ask, "What happened? Where are you hurt?"

"My neck, shoulder and side of my head, but I'll be fine." He tried to make his ears pop, but it didn't do any good. Everything still sounded like he was underwater. "I can't hear. Crap! This really su-"

To stop him from continuing his rant, she framed his face with her hands and kissed him until he relaxed and kissed her back. It lasted so long the crowd gathered around them started tittering until Tavish put a stop to it with, "Haud yer wheesht, 'n let th' lass be! Goan! Git ye away."

First one or two separated themselves from the group, then more and more until Tavish was the only one left. He nodded and winked at him before sauntering away. When they were alone, Clint touched Natasha on the cheek, forcing her to look at him. "What was _that_ for? To shut me up or were you really worried?" Her mouth twisted into a smirk, one eyebrow slanting upward. "Not that I'm complaining or anything. Just wanted to know for future reference."

Giving him a small shove, she stood and waited for him to do the same. He brushed the grass and dirt from his clothes, his eyes never leaving her face. Huffing though she knew he couldn't hear it, she said, "You scared the crap out of me."

Cupping a hand around one ear, he leaned close, raising his voice, "Can't hear you!"

Rather than scolding him, she took hold of his hand and dragged him to Griselda's tent so she could tell the older woman they were returning to the inn. As they left the tent, Natasha headed for the road. Clint stopped her, gesturing toward the corral. "I came by horse."

"Which one?"

"_What?_"

Instead of signing, Natasha waved a hand, inviting him to lead the way. When they reach the black and white beast, Clint helped her up then got on behind her. Reaching around to grasp the mane, he dug his heels in and they started off.

So he wouldn't be jostled, Clint set the horse to a slow walk. Down the road, Clint seemed to lean closer to her than was necessary or warranted, his hand coming to rest on her right hip. Placing her hand over his, she moved it around to the front over her navel and holding on. Until recently, it was the closest she'd ever come to being truly affectionate with him outside of a mission.

Reaching over her right shoulder with her left hand, using ASL, she told him, "Your hearing may return in a few days, a few weeks, or not at all."

He said a word that indicated intense frustration. "That idiot Gilroy could've been killed, but didn't even get a scratch and I end up deaf."

"Saving him was stupid, Clint. You could've corrupted the timeline so that the world as we know it no longer exists."

"He's an ass, but he didn't deserve to die. And no, I'm not going to correct the mistake by taking him out, and neither are you."

She huffed even knowing he couldn't hear it. "Wasn't going to suggest it. Selvig said something about the multi-verse. How everything we do has consequences and for each decision we make, every possible scenario is played out in an alternate reality. Just be prepared for the world to be different."

She reached back to pat him on the thigh, meaning the gesture to be comforting, but he chose to take it another way.

"What you're searching for is a little higher and to the left." Her response was to slap that same thigh. "Hey! I'm injured."

Again using sign language, Natasha made a sarcastic remark. "Poor thing. Should I sleep across the hall tonight then?" Snorting, Clint rubbed his hand in circles around her navel, but when he tried to take it further, she put a stop to it. "Don't."

He huffed. "In case you haven't noticed, we're alone on this road."

"In case _you_ haven't noticed this isn't the back seat of a Corvette, we're not at a drive-in, and _you're_ not Danny Zuko."

Clint chuckled, removing his hand completely, or so she thought. He pulled her hair aside and placed a lingering kiss on her neck then rested his cheek against hers. After a few moments, he started humming, changing to singing, and Natasha wasn't surprised at his choice.

_Stranded at the drive-in, branded a fool  
What will they say Monday at school?_

_Ta-asha, can't you see, I'm in misery?  
You made a start, now we're apart  
There's nothing left for me_

_Love has flown and all alone  
I sit and wonder why-y-y, oh  
Why you left me, oh Tasha__._

Either purposely or because he couldn't hear himself, he sang off key. Natasha reached over her shoulder to place a hand over his mouth. "_I'm _the one in misery."

To her relief, Clint was quiet for the rest of the ride to Macduff's and on the walk to the inn. She let them in the side door, took him by the hand and headed for the stairs. He pulled her to a stop, pointing at the kitchen. "I'm gonna get a beer. Want one?"

"No. I just want to turn in early."

"Okay. I'll be up soon."

Nodding, Natasha climbed the stairs, walked down the hall and into their room. Since everyone was at the festival, she changed into her nightshirt before going to the garderobe. In the mirror, she looked as tired as she felt. She washed her face, drying on the rough towel provided by Griselda, brushed her teeth and returned to the room. She tried to wait up for Clint, but sleep won out.

What seemed like hours later, Clint came to bed, but instead of spooning her, lay down facing the other direction. It was indicative of his state of mind, this pulling away. Not that she blamed him. Stuck in the past, their daughter lost to them, and now his hearing.

The one thing that neither of them had talked about and should was the "proof" from the Loch Lomond dig site that they never made it back home. Then again, they'd already changed that outcome by leaving Clint's recurve bow behind so who's to say that something else won't change as well? Everything they did here, and everyone they touched, no matter how briefly, could already have changed what they knew until their world was unrecognizable. Whatever the consequences, they'd find out when the sixty days were up.

Now that her mind had grabbed hold of that bit of information, it wouldn't stop working out all the possible scenarios. Unfortunately, with her limited knowledge of quantum mechanics and astrophysics, they all ended with her and Clint circling the drain.

When morning came, she got dressed and went downstairs to help Griselda in the kitchen while trying to figure out what jobs Clint could do that didn't require the use of his ears. Performing, at least for the time being, was out. If he couldn't hear, then singing would be almost impossible. Natasha had a few ideas to talk over with him when he came down.

~~O~~

Days turned into weeks for the SHIELD agents as they settled into being productive members of the community. At least once a week, Ainsley and her family came into town. If Selvig had gotten Clint and Natasha home, it still would've been bad because they had to live with the knowledge that she had lived and died long ago, but not as bad as seeing her alive here and now. Though they'd made the decision to leave her with the McKennas, the knowing hurt, perhaps more than not telling her the truth.

Natasha finished dressing and went down to help Griselda and the girls with the breakfast crowd. When business slowed down, she left to round up her charges. To her surprise, the mothers who lived in town had jumped at the chance to have someone looking after their wee ones while they cooked and cleaned and went about their daily chores. And that's how the first day care was born.

Natasha used the time as learning experiences for the children. Today, she was taking them to Loch Lomond where they would learn the names of the flora and fauna that lived in what would one day be a park.

Word had gotten around that she was skilled at using herbs for healing a variety of ailments. Between working for Griselda, the day care and creating herbal remedies, her days, and sometimes nights, were full. And with Clint helping Tavish and doing odd jobs around the village, they hardly saw each other outside of a meal every other day or so and at bedtime.

As Natasha was driving the wagon past the inn the sound of a window opening drew her attention.

"Nat! Wait up!" Clint called out. She smiled and kept going.

~~O~~

Natasha slowed down, but didn't stop forcing Clint to show off some of his acrobatic skills. He opened the window, climbed out onto the sill, his bow, quiver and the lute crossing his torso, leaving his hands free. The inn's wooden sign hung from a cast iron finial that he already knew would support his weight. Pushing off with both legs, he fell the short distance, grabbing the metal with both hands. Using his legs to gain momentum, made a flip and landed in the back of Angus MacDonald's wagon causing the pig to squeal. He gave her an ear scratch for an apology then stood with one foot on the cart's edge, gauging the distance to the stone wall that ran alongside the cobblestone street.

Jumping onto the wall, he ran along it until he came to another building that had a set of stairs up to a patio and door. A pole went from the newel cap up to the wooden porch cover. He grabbed hold and swung around once before using the rail to climb up to the top. He ran the length of the wooden structure, dodging chairs and tables, to get ahead of the wagon then climbed over the rail. When the wagon came close, he shouted, "Look out, kids!"

Obediently, they moved out of the way. Taking a leap, he landed in the back of the wagon to the delight of the children, dropping down to sit cross-legged in the hay. All of the children were talking at once and making such a racket he couldn't understand them. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistled and immediately, quiet descended.

"Master Lockhart, sir." A boy about seven raised his hand. "Will ya play for us today?"

"I will. Anything special ye'd like t' hear? Anybody?" Again, the noise level rose as they competed to have him play their favorite song. Clint covered his ears and tried not to wince when it stung deep inside.

"Hush now," Natasha said from the front of the wagon. "Let him be 'til we get there."

Aiming a mock glare at Natasha's back, Clint motioned the kids close, keeping his voice low. "Keep yer voices down 'n ye can still talk. Mary?"

"Where'd ye learn t'…" the girl waved, indicating his acrobatics.

"Ah, well, where I'm from we have a group of people who travel from one village t' th' next entertaining with horse ridin' tricks, funny plays, pretend battles 'n tricks with animals. We even had a rope high in th' air that we walked across."

The children, four to eight in age, watched him raptly, hanging on his every word. In their eyes, he could see the slightest flicker of skepticism, and that was okay. Questioning everything had led to every great invention since the dawn of time. "Now me, I did tricks with m' bow 'n arrows. 'N if ye behave, I'll do ye a demonstration."

They liked the idea, and Clint spent the rest of the ride to the loch working out something that would thrill the kids yet keep them safe at the same time. Hours later, they sat in the shade of tall tree eating the snacks that Natasha had brought while Clint told stories about the circus, only half of which were true. But they enjoyed it and it made him happy to make them happy.

Setting aside his apple core, he wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the lute. After strumming a few chords, he began to play a song that wouldn't be written until the 1990s.

_I used to be invisible, a shape changing magic kid__  
__I could move at the speed of thought, and frequently I did.__  
__But my greatest accomplishment was a slow and looping glide.__  
__I saw the tops of everything, back when I could fly.__I'd take my daily nap on the highest leafy branch__  
__Then follow shooting stars on a comet's fiery lance._

_I was quite the prodigy when I owned the sky__  
__I never thought I'd have to walk, back when I could fly._

Clint would've continued, but they were interrupted by the pounding of horse's hooves and someone calling out, "Mistress Lockhart!" Danny Stewart, a boy of fourteen, looked frightened as he reined the huge beast to a stop and jumped to the ground. "It's m' sister, Torey. She's-she's…"

Going to the boy, Clint laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Danny. What's problem?"

"The baby's come early. Mum says he's breech. Sent me t' get th' midwife, but she's goan t' th' Miller's. Mum says t' hurry."

To Natasha, Clint said, "Go. I'll take the kids back."

With a quick glance at Danny, she whispered, "Clint, I don't know anything about delivering a baby."

Poor Danny was confused and frightened. "Please. Ye've _got_ t' come."

Inhaling and letting it out again in a rush, Clint nodded. "We'll both go. Danny, you take th' children home. How do I get to yer sister's house?"

Danny gave quick and detailed instructions that seemed easy enough. Grabbing the horse's mane, Clint vaulted onto its back. Extending a hand, he helped Natasha up behind him, but she just looked at him as if he were crazy while Danny went to stand with the children who were looking scared as well. "Clint, I can't…"

He smiled and winked. "I got this, babe. You just need to come along in case anyone objects to a man performing midwifery."

Finally, she took his hand and he hoisted her up behind him. He turned the horse around, dug his heels in and they were off like a shot, her arms tightening around his waist. As much as he enjoyed the feel of Natasha's arms, he didn't let it distract him from his mission.

They rode at full speed down the lane, slowing for the turn, Clint easily steering the animal in the direction of the Stewart home. Through the trees, he could see the smoke from a chimney and soon the house came into sight. He tugged on the reins and before they'd come to a complete stop, Natasha had already jumped to the ground.

"I'll gather the herbs, roots and berries I need to make an analgesic and something to calm the mother. Father too, probably."

Clint snagged her hand. "Whoa. They're expecting a woman. Once they're comfortable with me doing the work, then you can go."

Natasha looked from him to the house and back, nodding. Clint pounded on the door and it was opened immediately by a frantic young man not much older than Danny. He looked from Clint to Natasha, sagging in relief. From the back of the house, a woman was screaming in pain while another tried to calm her. He stood back to let them in and speaking so fast Clint could barely understand him. "The Lord be praised! My wife's in terrible pain. Her mum says th' baby's turned wrong."

The yelling stopped as it usually did when a contraction was over. "I'm Clint Lockhart. My wife, Natasha."

"Andrew." To Natasha he said, "Please help Torey, Miss. I couldn't bear it if I lost her 'n th' child."

Torey's voice was strained as she called out, "Andrew!"

Andrew went to the door. "Relax, love. The midwife's just arrived. Ye'll both be fine soon."

Clint went to his side and began issuing orders while rolling up his sleeves. "Heat lots of water for scrubbing up. And I'll need clean sheets and towels. As many as you've got."

Pointing at Natasha, Andrew stuttered, "But she-"

"Sorry, pal. You're stuck with me." He waited and finally Andrew stepped aside. With his hand on the door, Clint, said, "I need those things _now_, Andrew. Hot water, towels, sheets, blankets. Whatever you've got. _Go!_"

Clint said the last word with such authority that Andrew jumped. "Uh, aye," was his sheepish reply as he gave Clint a wide birth in his rush to carry out orders.

Opening the door, Clint went into the room, pulling Natasha with him so she couldn't run off just yet. Before he could introduce himself, the girl on the bed, seventeen if she was a day, grabbed her stomach.

"Argh! Mum! What's 'e doin' here? Send him away!" Both women looked at Clint with mistrust.

Raising a hand, Clint gave her a wave. "Name's Clint. _I'm_ th' midwife. Nat?"

Smiling gently, Natasha took Torey's hand. "My husband's th' one with experience delivering babies, Torey. He needs t' examine ya, okay?"

Another contraction took hold of her putting a stop to whatever protest Torey or her mother might've made. Instead, the mother said, "Aye. Anything. Just help her."

Crouching at the foot of the bed, Clint grasped the edge of the blanket and folded it out of the way. "Don't be scared, Torey. I've done this a few times."

Nodding, Torey panted while her mother wet a cloth and wiped the sweat from her face, whispering soothing words.

~~O~~

The exam done, Clint nodded Natasha over, keeping his voice low, "Go see what's taking Andrew so long."

She softly closed the door leaving the two women alone with Clint. "Torey, honey, th' baby needs t' be turned. I'm goan t' wash up 'n be right back."

At the wood stove, Clint used the hot water and soap to scrub as best he could. Leaving his hands wet, he entered to the bedroom just as Andrew returned with blankets and towels. He set them down on the foot of the bed and made to leave. Already drying his hands, Clint clapped a hand covered with a towel on his shoulder. "Whoa there, pal. You're staying."

The girl's mother gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "He shouldnae be here while Torey's birthin'."

Clint scoffed and kept hold of the young man's arm, leading him to his wife's side. "He attended th' conception. It's only fair that he be here t' see th' results." To Torey he said, "The next time ya have a contraction, I want ya t' focus on yer breathing." He demonstrated how to breathe while drying his hands and arms. "I need antiseptic, Andrew. Ya have whiskey, anything like that?"

"Nae."

"I'll do without." To Torey, he said, "I'm goan t' turn th' baby now. It'll hurt so don't be afraid t' yell as loud as ye want."

While Clint did what needed to be done so the baby could be born, Torey bore the embarrassment stoically, grunting, moaning, and gasping, but didn't cry out. The archer also noticed that Natasha hadn't returned from her errand. There was nothing quite like bringing a new life into the world, but he wouldn't force her to watch if she didn't want to. "There. All done."

He palpated her huge stomach, nodding with satisfaction. "Almost time." Going into the other room, he washed again and returned. To the older woman, he said, "Yrr her mother?"

"Aye. Freya, Master Lockhart."

Smiling, Clint handed her one of the blankets. "Clint. When th' baby comes out, I'll place him on Torey's chest. It's very important for their skin t' touch along th' length o' th' baby's body. Immediately cover both with the blanket so they'll stay warm."

"O-oh! Here comes another!"

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Clint folded the blanket out of the way. The baby's head was crowning. "Go ahead 'n push, Torey. Keep pushing as hard as ya can 'til I tell ya t' stop."

The girl did as she was told and a short time later, the baby emerged, but didn't cry. Placing him on his mother's chest, Clint closed the front of her gown over both of them and rubbed the tiny body through the cloth to stimulate blood flow. After a couple of false starts, he began to cry and Clint beamed. "Congratulations. It's a boy." Returning to the end of the bed, he removed the placenta and wrapped it in a towel, using a strip of leather to tie off the cord and cut it with his knife. "Freya, help Andrew get th' baby 'n Torey cleaned up, 'n change th' bed. He'll be hungry so when yer done so go ahead 'n feed him." As he left the room, he found Natasha watching from the door. When she saw him, the awe in her eyes wasn't masked as she might've done in the past. Now that they were together, she'd stopped hiding her deeper emotions. He closed the door so the family could have privacy. "How much did you see?"

"Most of it. That was amazing, Clint."

Shrugging, he went to the water bucket and washed up. "After the first one, it's easy."

Natasha went to the well and brought back a bucket of water, poured it into a cast iron pot and placed it over the fire to heat. "How many have you done?"

"More than twenty humans and animals. Assisted on a bunch more." Natasha's expression changed to one of concern. She pointed her chin and he turned to see Andrew in the bedroom doorway. Clint dried his hands, annoyed that Natasha was staring at him. "What?"

"You didn't hear him."

Attempting to play it off, he smiled and leaned close. "I only have eyes and ears for you."

He tried to kiss her, and she stopped him with a hand in the middle of his chest. "It's getting worse again, isn't it? Your hearing."

Drying his hands, he avoided eye contact. Her silence was filled with irritation he could feel as though she'd touched him. "Yes, but there's nothing we can do about it. I'll be fine."

"We have very different views on what is and isn't _fine_, Clint." Andrew had gone back into the room expecting Clint to follow. "Go take care of your patients and I'll get rid of…" she pointed at the towel containing the afterbirth, "…that."

Nodding, he waited until she'd gone to return to the bedroom. "How we doing?"

Andrew grinned, motioning him forward. The baby boy had been cleaned up and was covered in a very soft blanket. He lay nestled against his mother's chest nursing. "What's his name?"

"David, after my da who's passed on." Andrew paused, almost embarrassed then he pushed on. "Master Lockhart, what be yer full name?"

"Please, call me Clint. My full name is Clinton Frances Lockhart."

Propped up in bed, Torey shifted her position in order to see him better. "Then our son's name will be David Clinton Stewart." She held out her hand and Clint took it. "God's blessing for all ye done."

"Glad to help. Andrew?" Clint drew the proud father out of the room where he gave instructions for the care of mother and child to prevent illness and infection, being very specific. "I'll check back in a few days. Don't hesitate t' send for me if Torey or th' baby start running a fever. We're staying at Tavish's place."

The men shook hands and Clint left the family alone to get to know each other. Danny was coming down the path. He halted the wagon in front of the house just as Clint stepped outside, giving the boy's a smile and a nod. The young man ran inside and slammed the door. "Torey! Mum! Andrew!"

More tired than he thought he should be, Clint climbed up next to Natasha, yawning and rubbing his eyes. They hadn't gone more than a mile before he fell asleep.

~~O~~

Over the next couple of weeks, Clint's hearing came and went at random intervals, with longer and longer periods in between the good times, and Natasha did what she could to help. If there was a crowd, she would stick close to his side, using ASL to keep conversations from becoming awkward. By now, the residents of Laomainn were used to seeing the Lockharts always together and using sign language. Some still found it odd and gave them a wide berth, but mostly they just ignored it.

One of the downsides of Clint's condition was that he had to give up entertaining in the tavern. He still played now and again, but only a song or two.

Danny, uncle to baby David, asked to apprentice with Natasha to learn her craft as an herbalist. He turned out to be a very able and attentive student. When she and Clint returned home, the village would be in good hands.

In the times that Natasha was running her day care or ministering to the sick and injured, Clint helped in the kitchen where being hearing impaired was sometimes an asset. At first, Griselda thought he was having a laugh at her expense when he made the suggestion, but one taste of his shepherd's pie and bread pudding changed her mind. It was Natasha's thought that people came in on the days and nights Clint worked thinking that he'd once been the chef for one of the royal families. When told different, they would laugh that a man was doing "women's work" until they tasted his cooking, and then the laughing stopped.

~~O~~

The day came for Da to take the wares into town to sell in the square and she begged to go along. Mum had decided to stay at home to work on Winifred's wedding dress, and time alone with Da was in short supply what with her brother's family, her sister's impending marriage and mother vying for his attention. The animals too.

When Ainsley and Gavin reached the marketplace, they set up the stall and she helped greet and wait on customers until it was near to noon. While business was slow, they had beef and some of her mother's homemade bread, after which, she went for a walk.

As Ainsley neared the village square, the sound of laughing and playing quickened her pace. Children of all ages were watching attentively as Clint performed tricks of the sort that the traveling acrobats did for entertainment. Off to one side, Natasha looked on, laughing and clapping as if she'd never seen the like. She and Clint were more relaxed and cheerful now than when they'd first come to Laomainn.

Sometimes, when one or the other looked at her, she got a funny feeling in the back of her head as if a long forgotten memory were trying to get out. And watching Clint, the feeling increased. It disconcerted her so she went in search of her friends, wanting them to go along with her into the forest, more to cheer her on than because she needed their company. The gammy traitors preferred to watch Clint's antics instead. Resigned, she went along with them and found herself getting into the spirit. Especially when Clint pulled a coin from her ear. He winked at her and without meaning to, she laughed.

Every time they met, he tried to give her the prize money from the tournament. And each time Ainsley refused it. But today, he just continued with his tricks, barely giving her a second glance. Instead, he turned his attention to the younger ones and for some reason, it annoyed her. Jamming her elbow into her knee, she stuck her chin in the palm and brooded until Da came to get her.

"Let's goan home, love. I'm pure done in."

Ainsley returned to the stall, helped pack everything not sold into the wagon and after Da hitched the horses, he gave her the reins for the ride home. All the way, he sneezed and coughed, worrying Ainsley a wee bit. Flicking the reins, she spurred the horses a little faster. "We'll be home 'fore ye know it, Da."

He didn't respond except to nod as another round of coughing came over him. Soon, Ainsley pulled the horses to a stop in front of their home, jumped down and ran to the door. "Mum! Winnie!"

The two older McKenna women helped Gavin from the wagon and into the house while Ainsley saw to the horses. Inside, the house smelled just as it always did. Supper cooking over the fire and the voices of her family talking in soft tones. Only tonight, their voices held a note of concern for her da. Spooning some of the broth into a bowl, she carried it into the bedroom, giving it to her mum.

"Here ye go, love. This broth will do ye well." Sitting up in bed, Gavin took the bowl, sipping several spoonfuls before coughing again. Edeen rescued the bowl before it could spill. "That's enough for now. Just rest 'n ye'll be well again before long."

The McKenna women left Gavin be and went to have their supper. At bedtime, Ainsley said an extra prayer that her Da would be well again soon then crawled under the covers, and for the first time in years, she hugged her stuffed bunny for comfort, watching the stars out the window.

~~O~~

Snuggled comfortably with Natasha, Clint was brought out of a dream about home by someone pounding on the door. Still half asleep, he yawned as he kicked off the covers, noticing it was still dark out. "Keep your pants on! I'm coming!"

The pounding didn't stop, annoying the archer. Yanking the door open, ready to tear whoever it was a new one, he was surprised when Ainsley, wide-eyed and nearly panicked, grabbed the front of his nightshirt in both hands. "Clint! Ye've got t' come! Please!"

The girl tried to pull him into the hall, but Clint stood firm. "Whoa! Calm down." Crouching, he gently held her head still so he could look her in the eye. She wasn't easily frightened and the fact that she was out alone in the middle of the night said more than her words. "What's wrong, Rosie?"

Clint winced inwardly. Without thinking, he used the nickname he'd given his daughter when she was two.

"They've taken ill 'n I dinnae know what t' do. _Please_, ye've got t' come." Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.

"Who, Ainsley? Who's sick?"

With a quick swipe, she brushed away the tear tracks, finally getting herself under control. "M' family. I-I think they're dyin'."

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive sister

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive brother

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 18**

Natasha touched Clint on the shoulder. "Ainsley, what's wrong?"

"Da fell ill evenin' 'fore last then Mum 'n Winnie was feeling poorly by th' next mornin'. They couldnae look after themselves. I've been tryin' t' tend them though it wasnae easy. Then this evenin' they wouldnae wake up when I went t' th' 'em."

Smoothing her hand down the girl's hair and giving her a confident smile, Natasha said, "Of course we'll come. Wait here while we get dressed."

Clint and Natasha hurriedly changed out of their nightwear, Natasha in the tunic and pants. Now was not the time to worry about what people thought of her. Clint pulled on his pants while she packed what he called her medicine bag and put on her boots. As they stepped into the hall, Clint dragged a shirt on over his head, hopping first on one foot then the other putting his boots on as they rushed to the stairs. When they reached the first floor, Natasha touched Clint on the arm to get his attention. "I need antiseptic."

Clint nodded and ducked into the bar where she could hear him gathering bottles in a crate. If the situation weren't so desperate, Natasha would've expected him to make a snarky remark. He could be an ass, but he also knew when to curb it.

Natasha nearly jumped when Ainsley took her hand and held on tight, looking up at her with sad, almost desperate eyes. The child needed comfort, and that thought stirred another in Natasha. The McKenna family was well liked and had friends, many who lived in closer proximity to their home than the inn. Why had Ainsley come to relative strangers for help?

She wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time. Natasha helped Ainsley into the wagon then climbed up beside her holding the reins and waiting for Clint. He came out, set the crate in the back and jumped in with it. Natasha flicked the reins and the horses took off. When they got outside of town, she took the chance to pick up the pace. She'd never been to the McKenna farm at night, and so relied on Ainsley to navigate.

As they rode, Ainsley listed her family's symptoms, all very familiar to Natasha: influenza. She knew where to find the herbs she needed to combat the illness. In the morning, she'd go after them.

They pulled up in front of the home, Clint hopping out before they'd come to a complete stop. He helped Natasha then Ainsley down. It wasn't necessary for either of them, but Natasha was grateful for the small courtesy just this once. "Ainsley, I need lots of water. Some for washing 'n some for cookin'."

"Aye."

The girl turned to go, stopping when Natasha took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Try not to worry. I'll do everything in my power to make them well again." Ainsley nodded and ran inside coming out moments later with several buckets and going to the well. Using ASL, Natasha said to Clint, "Stay out here so you don't get sick as well."

"What's wrong with them?"

"They have the flu." Clint handed her the medicine bag and claimed a kiss, the last one either of them would be getting for a while. "Love you, Clint."

He winked at her and grinned. "I know."

Grabbing the bridle of the horse on the right, Clint turned the wagon around, leading the beasts to the barn. Natasha watched him go then went to help Ainsley carry buckets of water into the house. She stoked the fire and set two pots on to boil. The rest she set aside.

On the table, Natasha set out the herbs, roots and berries she needed, leaving the rest in the bag. Opening cabinets, she found a tin of dried tea leaves. She scooped a spoonful into three cups. Using a serrated edged knife, she scraped fresh ginger into the cups. There was another ingredient she needed, but hadn't seen. "Ainsley, do you have honey?"

"Aye, Miss." The young girl opened a cabinet and took down a jar filled with amber fluid. "Mum uses it in her tea. Da likes his without."

"Most men do." Filling a bowl with cool water, she handed a small kitchen towel to the girl. "After I've checked them over, if they have a fever, we need to bring it down. While I go get th' herbs, I want you to use cool water 'n towels t' bathe them. Your da was th' first to fall ill?"

"Aye. He was feeling poorly at th' market so we came home early. He's in his bed. Mum's in my bed 'n Winnie's in her own."

"We'll start with Gavin then." Letting Ainsley lead the way, Natasha went into the one room she hadn't seen the day she and Clint had stopped by unannounced. Gavin had the covers pulled up to his neck and he was perspiring. His breathing was steady and not labored. A good sign though he would occasionally cough in his sleep. With Ainsley watching intently, she gave Gavin the most thorough exam she could, using her internal time sense to count his pulse.

She left Ainsley with her father and went to check on the women. They were in the same condition as Gavin. Going back to the other bedroom, she motioned to Ainsley. "When you've finished with Gavin, do th' same for yer mum 'n sister. When it's light, I need to go out for a bit."

"Ye'll not be long?"

"No. If you need anything, Clint will be right outside."

Natasha turned to go, but before she reached the door, Ainsley hugged her tight. "Thank ye for comin', Mistress Lockhart."

Setting the girl away from her, Natasha tilted Ainsley's head up so she could see her eyes and smiled. "Natasha."

Returning the smile, Ainsley said, "Natasha."

"Now go take care o' yer family while I talk t' Clint. Call if ya need me."

~~O~~

With the animals bedded down for the night, Clint returned to the cabin. Natasha had told him to stay outside, but his need to help won out. The door opened as he reached for it and Natasha stepped outside giving him _that_ look again. "Do something for me?"

"Anything." Her sigh told him he wouldn't like what was coming next, and he was right.

"Chicken soup." Groaning, Clint glanced in the direction of the coop, a gesture Natasha misinterpreted. "Don't tell me you're squeamish about killing a _chicken?_"

"No. It's just that I haven't done it in a while." With a resigned huffed, he pulled the ax from the stump, also taking note that the wood pile was low. After the chicken, he'd cut some wood.

Again Natasha held his hand, smiling her appreciation. "We have to get fluids into these people and prepare for a village wide outbreak."

"******* perfect! Survive an alien invasion only to be killed by the flu three hundred-fifty years in the past." Clint's palms itched with the need to hit someone. Instead, he went to the coop, peering through the door at the hens sitting on their nests with no idea that one of them was about to become dinner. "Evenin', ladies. I need a volunteer. Which of you is gonna take one for the team?"

~~O~~

More tired that she could ever remember being, Ainsley carried the nearly empty bowl of water out to the kitchen and poured it out the back door. She set the empty bowl and wet towels on the counter then dragged herself over to the hearth where she spread a blanket and lay down, her head pillowed on her arms.

Natasha came from seeing to Da then sat next to her. Needing comfort, Ainsley adjusted her position until her head was in Natasha's lap. She fell asleep with Natasha's hand stroking her hair.

**The Next Morning**

Morning allowed Natasha to see just how bad the situation was. When they arrived at the McKenna farm during the night, she knew she had much work to do to make them well. It could've been worse. Pale skin and sweat-matted hair were a small price to pay in the short term. In the long run, it might take a couple of weeks to a month for them to come back to their full strength. Or not. They were a hearty people. Strong in body and mind. Natasha wouldn't be surprised to see them back to their former selves in a week to ten days. Provided she could get them over the hump.

She'd also expected them to have visitors frantically calling out for the services of the herbalist in the absence of a physician, assuming that the citizens of Laomainn knew she was at the McKenna farm. Griselda and Tavish might guess, but that wasn't a certainty.

Worried about the rest of the village, Natasha planned to gather the ingredients she needed to make an immunity boosting herbal tea and pass it out to anyone who wanted it along with instructions for how to care for themselves and family if they fell ill.

"_Nat! Wagon's ready._"

Smiling at the irritation in his voice, she called out, "Coming!"

Pride in him widened her smile as she went to check on the sleeping Ainsley. The girl had fallen asleep with her head in Natasha's lap the night before, exhausted and Natasha refused to wake her. Ainsley was smart enough to call on Clint in the event of an emergency.

Gathering up as many empty sacks as she could find, Natasha quietly closed the door behind her. She tossed the sacks in the back of the wagon and climbed into the driver's seat. Clint was there with an affectionate smile. "No kiss?"

"Not today, and probably not for a while. I won't catch it, but I could be a carrier."

"I had a flu shot just before we left," he reminded her.

Before he finished his sentence, Natasha was already shaking her head. "This could be a strain you weren't immunized against."

"How long will you be gone?"

The breeze tousled her bangs and she brushed at them with annoyance. "A few hours. We need enough supplies to cover more than half the village. As much as I can find. Without phones, word of mouth is the only form of communication available so we won't know who's sick unless or until someone tells us. The McKennas could be an isolated incident, but I doubt it."

"Be careful."

She flicked the reins and the wagon jerked into motion. When she reached the main road, Natasha turned in the direction of the fields where she'd seen some of the items she needed. Others could be found in people's homes and at the inn. Her mind made a list of the ingredients and quantities necessary to cover the village's residents.

The field she was looking for revealed itself through the trees. Tugging on the reins, she brought the wagon to a stop and jumped down. Taking several bags from the back, she got to work.

~~O~~

Setting another log on the stump, Clint swung the ax over and down, cleaving it in two. He picked up the pieces and tossed them out of his way. He'd been doing it for over an hour now. Swing, chop, toss until there was more than enough for the next week. But still, he kept at it. It was therapeutic, a way to work out his frustrations.

He stopped in mid swing when the door opened and Ainsley stepped outside. She breathed deeply, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled. Clint approached her. "You okay?"

Wearily, she nodded. "Aye. Tired."

"Go get some rest."

"I cannae. It's time t' bathe 'em again."

A loud thump came from inside the house, and without hesitating, Clint dropped the ax and ran in after Ainsley. They found that her father had apparently awakened and decided to go for a walk. His legs being too weak to support his heavily muscled frame at the moment, he'd fallen in a heap beside the bed. He couldn't stay on the floor and Ainsley couldn't get him back into bed on her own so breaching quarantine was the only solution. "Let's change th' bed then I'll help get him in."

Together they remade the bed with clean sheets then Clint picked Gavin up and laid him on the ancient mattress while Ainsley went to tend to her sister and mother. The bed creaked and he bent down to peer underneath. The supports were made from wood and were so old they'd begun to sag in the middle. Clint made a note to fix this and the other beds while he was here. Scanning the room, he noticed other places where the home needed attention; a perfect place to put his contractor's skills to work. He and Natasha were going to be around for another couple of weeks and he really needed something to do that didn't require the use of his hearing.

The door to the other bedroom was open a few inches. Clint peeked in, but just long enough to ensure that Ainsley didn't need help. Satisfied, he turned away then came back when he heard singing.

_Close your eyes, and I'll sing you a song,__  
__Lullaby, sleep until the dawn.__  
__The cricket's serenade echoes softly through the night.__  
__The stars are on the lake, and the moon is shining bright.__  
__Don't worry, I'll leave the light on in the hall;__  
__Just go to sleep now, close your eyes._

___Close your eyes, listen to my song.__  
__Lullaby, sleep until the dawn.__  
__The birds are in their nest, and the cows are in the barn,__  
__The covers on your bed will keep you safe and warm;__  
__Don't worry, I'll be beside you should you call,__  
__Just go to sleep now, close your eyes._

The last note faded as Ainsley laid Edeen's hand on her stomach and pulled the covers up to her neck. She brushed a hand through her hair, picked up the bowl and carried it to Winifred's bed.

If nothing else, this one moment told him that Ainsley was his daughter. The only other time he'd ever heard that song in Russian was when Natasha sang it to Annabelle.

~~O~~

Stomping his boots on the front stoop to knock the mud free, Brendan called out, "Da! Belle's calfin'. Da!" The young man was taken aback when the door opened just a few inches to show a stranger, the man introduced to him at the tournament, Clint Lockhart. "What're ye doin' here? Where's m' da?"

"Sorry, pal. Your father's taken ill. So have Edeen 'n Winifred."

"'N Ainsley? What've ye done with…"

The girl opened the door wider, throwing a scowl at her brother. "He's nae done anythin' except help, Bren. Mum, Da 'n Winnie come down with a sickness 'n Natasha be gatherin' what she needs t' make 'em well again."

His suspicions dropped away, replaced by alarm as he started to push his way in. He was stopped by Lockhart's hand in the middle of his chest. "Can't come in."

"_What?_ Why? I want t' see my family!"

Placing a small hand on Brendan's arm drew his gaze back to Ainsley. "I know ye do, but there's th' risk o' ye comin' over with th' sickness too. 'N ye have a responsibility t' Cristie 'n George."

Brendan looked from one to the other and realized they were right. His wife was with child. He couldn't risk taking the sickness to her and their young son. Reluctantly, he nodded and turned away.

"Wait. Ye've got a cow calfin'?" Clint asked.

"Aye."

With a hand on Ainsley's shoulder, Lockhart asked, "Will ye be okay if I go with Brendan?" Ainsley nodded, and Lockhart did as well. "Natasha should be back soon. Come get me if ye need anythin'."

Lockhart came outside and closed the door, waiting for Brendan to lead the way. When they reached the barn, Brendan kept looking at Lockhart and wondering why he was so willing to help a family he hardly knew. "Ye've done this before, have ye?"

"A time or two, but this is yer show. Just tell me what t' do." The cow mooed plaintively, spurring the men to action. They went to the well and washed up then back to the barn. Brendan issued instructions which Lockhart followed to the letter without comment or hesitation, and a few minutes later, a new life came into the world. When she was cleaned up, they left mother and baby alone to bond. Brendan, impressed with Clint's knowledge, assumed he would return to the house. He was surprised a second time when Lockhart asked, "Put me to work."

Brendan gave the shorter man a long, contemplative look, then, "We've got fences what need mendin', but th' wagon's gone."

"Yeah, sorry. Natasha went t' get what she needs t' make yer family 'n th' village well, if it should come t' that." Going back to the barn, he poked around in the storage area, coming out with coils of rope. Boards of varying sizes were stacked in one corner, and he chose some that were long and more narrow than the others. And while Brendan watched, Lockhart built a travois and a rope harness. Together, they stacked the boards Lockhart would need on the travois then Lockhart settled the harness over his shoulders, accepted a hammer and more nails than he would need. With a nod and a smile, he headed off in the direction Brendan told him to go.

Shaking his head, Brendan turned the animals out into the corral and fed them. When they'd eaten, he let them into the paddock, hitched up the plow to the one ox they owned and set off to plow one of the fields.

~~O~~

Natasha reined the horses to a stop in front of the Drunken Lance, grabbed as many filled bags as she could and rushed inside. "Griselda!"

The older woman and her husband came running from their rooms in the back. "Natasha, love! Where've ye been?"

"The McKenna's have been taken with a sickness. Have ye heard o' others?"

Tavish responded as he took the bags from Natasha, "Aye. Some. Th' midwife's doin' her best t' help, but she's nae been trained as ye have."

"I've brought what's needed t' make a tea that will help." In the kitchen, Natasha dumped the contents of the bags out onto the counter, grabbed a large bowl and started mixing ingredients. "When I've mixed it up, I need someone t' take it around to th' homes o' those known t' have th' sickness."

Nodding, Tavish headed for the side exit. "I'll go 'n round up th' lads."

Thirty minutes later, Griselda and Natasha had mixed up enough of the tea to cover more than half the residents of Laomainn. They portioned it into small cloth bags then placed them all into larger bags, finishing just as Tavish returned with a group of ten strapping men and boys, none of which showed any signs of the sickness. "Wash frequently 'n avoid direct physical contact with anyone who's come down with th' sickness. Everyone, including those not felled should sip this tea several times a day every day. Chicken broth 'n water will also help. Lots of both. For fever, bathe in cool water t' bring it down. Hopefully, this will all be over in less than a fortnight."

The men looked skeptical, but their protests were squelched by Tavish bellowing "Quiet!" Then the men scattered at Tavish's order, "Get ye along, lads, 'n make haste. If ye see strangers approach, tell 'em t' come back in a fortnight."

Tavish himself took two of the larger bags and left the inn to pass out the tea to those who lived in the village proper.

Natasha turned to her friend. "I have t' get along back t' th' McKenna's, Griselda. If ye need anything at all, send someone 'round."

"Aye. God go with ye, love."

At the door, Natasha smiled her appreciation. "'N ye as well, Griselda."

**Several Days Later**

Tired in the way that came from hard labor, Clint returned to the barn, noting that the ox was back in his stall and the plow had been returned. Brendan was gone, presumably home to take care of his family just like he had every day since the flu outbreak. He went into the barn to check on the cow and her newborn, satisfied that both were doing well.

The wagon was parked outside showing that Natasha had returned from yet another trip to visit a sick family. Someone, probably Ainsley, had corralled the horses and fed them as they seemed content. From the back of the wagon he took out clean clothes then knocked on the door. Ainsley opened it almost immediately, smiling a greeting and calling out, "Natasha! Clint's come home."

Natasha came to the door and without being told, Ainsley stepped away to give them privacy. "How's the new baby?"

"Adorable. She even has Fury's eyes." At his quip, Natasha gave him a tired smile which he returned. "What's the word?"

With a sigh, she leaned on the door jamb. "I'll need to make another batch and take it into town. I also expect to be called to attend more of the sick and paranoid."

"There're hypochondriacs here?"

"They're everywhere, _mon amour_."

Leaning close, Clint whispered, "Mmm, Tash. I love it when you speak French." Glancing over her shoulder he could see Ainsley pretending not to listen, switching to French himself. "We're sleeping apart again tonight."

"Unfortunately, yes. It should only be another day or so."

He exhaled loudly, muttering under his breath, "I can't catch a break here."

With undisguised humor, she ignored his comment. "Ainsley and I did some washing. Could you hang it up?"

He nodded and Natasha stepped back so he could carry the basket of laundry out to the line. "If you wash the blankets, I'll do them too."

"Already started." Natasha glanced over her shoulder then back at his face. "_Je t'aime_, Clint."

"_Je t'aime_, Natasha."

~~O~~

Natasha closed the door, standing with her back to it for a few moments before going to the large pot over the fire to stir the chicken soup and sensing rather than hearing Ainsley come up behind her. "How are yer mum 'n sister?"

The girl waited for Natasha to turn around before answering. "Winnie opened her eyes this last time, 'n Mum held m' hand for a bit." She had more to say and didn't wait long to do so. "What was that ye were speakin'?"

"It's th' language of a country called France. Clint 'n I spent some time there." It was the truth. Natasha just didn't say _why_ they'd been to Rennes and Paris, letting Ainsley assume they'd been searching for their daughter. Ainsley continued to watch her with that same unreadable expression that Clint used to hide what he was thinking or feeling. Usually both. "I should check on Gavin."

Taking a bowl from the cupboard, Natasha filled it with the chicken broth she kept simmering over the fire and added a cup of tea to the tray, making a mental note to have Clint bring in another chicken. When she made to carry it into the bedroom, Ainsley took it from her. "I'll go."

Contrary to her actions, Ainsley seemed to be upset. Perhaps she was just worried about her family and putting up a brave front for their sakes. Stepping outside, Natasha went to a huge pot simmering over a fire. Using a thick branch, she stirred the blankets soaking in the hot water and lye. Clint finished hanging the clothing then came to help wring the blankets and sheets. She rinsed the bucket and refilled it, dumping the bedclothes into the clean water. Again, she used the branch to stir until she was satisfied that they were as clean as possible. Clint helped wring them out again then hung them over the branches of trees.

Going to the stump where Clint had been cutting wood, Natasha sat down, rubbing her forehead and yawning. Clint sat next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders and holding her close. "Remember Annabelle's second birthday party?"

Smiling against his shoulder, Natasha nodded. "Fury made the mistake of sitting within throwing distance and received a handful of cake and frosting in his face as a reward."

"She giggled like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. He wiped it off his cheek and ate it then turned to you with that deadpan expression of his and said, 'Mmm. Chocolate buttercream. My favorite.'"

Even though she'd been there at the time, Natasha still chuckled out loud. "I don't know how he does it. That man never loses his cool." Reluctantly pushing out of Clint's arms, she stood up and stretched. "I need some rest."

Clint brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. Lowering his voice, he said, "Too bad we can't take a nap together."

"As wonderful as that sounds, I'd probably fall asleep before we got to the best part."

Getting to his feet, Clint leaned over to put his mouth close to her ear. "No, you wouldn't. I'd see to it."

With that parting shot, he went to check the clothes on the line, seemingly annoyed that they weren't yet dry though they'd been hanging less than an hour and not in direct sunlight. She watched him stack the chopped wood against the side of the building whistling a tune she'd heard before but didn't remember the name of, if she'd ever known it. Eventually, he turned toward the front of the house with an armful of wood. When he came close, she said, "Before you go, would you…"

Clint kept on walking through the yard and into the house, coming out a short time later, his arms empty. She rushed to stop him. He swung around, one hand going to the knife at his waist, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Don't sneak up on people, Nat."

Her eyes narrowed with concern tinged with anger, silently mouthing the words, "You can't hear at all now, can you?"

"I can _hear_ just fine."

Using ASL, she signed, "No, you can't. I didn't say anything just now. You read my lips."

Guilt and annoyance warred in his eyes, the guilt winning. "We've had this conversation before and it's getting boring so stop busting my chops. I'm going to the loch."

He turned away and she moved back into his line of sight forcing him to look at her. "I'm not busting your chops, as you so eloquently put it. Going out on your own could be dangerous. What if Gilroy comes after you again?"

Tugging his arm free, he stared her down, neither one giving an inch. "He hasn't been seen in or around the village since I saved his sorry ass. If we're lucky, he's at home puking his guts out."

With a heavy sigh, he went to the wagon, picked up his clean clothes and headed in the direction of the loch. Natasha let him go because he was right. There wasn't a thing they could do about it until they returned to the future.

A little while later, Natasha felt the need to take a walk. Though she didn't want to do it, she had to wake Ainsley to let her know she would be gone for a while. Resisting the urge to run a hand down the girl's long red hair, she touched her on the shoulder. "Ainsley?"

The girl opened her eyes and sat up, yawning and looking around as if she didn't know where she was. "Och, I fell asleep again."

"You needed th' rest. I have t' go after Clint, but I won't be gone long." Taking a waterskin, Natasha quietly closed the door behind her.

~~O~~

From the window, Ainsley watched Natasha break into a run, disappearing into the trees. When she'd gone, the girl stepped outside, closing her eyes and breathing deeply of the clean air. Going to the stump, she sat down to think. So much had happened over the last few days it had her wondering if everything she thought she knew as truth was really lies or even just half-truths. Her thoughts kept spinning until she heard the front door open and there stood her father. "Ainsley? What's goin' on? Where's Mum 'n Winifred?"

"Da!" She rushed to his side, turning him around and taking him back inside. "Ya shouldnae be up. Ye've been ill, but yer all goan t' be well soon."

Obediently, he sat on the bed while Ainsley propped him up with pillows. "Could I get some water, love?"

"Natasha says tea is best." He nodded as she pulled the covers over him. "C'n ye eat?"

"Maybe some. Who's been doin' th' work?"

Ainsley left and returned with broth and tea. "Brendan 'n Clint. Natasha's been ministerin' t' those with th' sickness."

Her father's expression changed to something unreadable. "They've been here all th' days?"

She nodded. "Brendan couldnae do th' farmin' alone, 'n I needed help t' see t' th' needs o' ye, Mum 'n Winnie."

Taking her hand, Gavin gave it a squeeze. The look in his eyes changed, but Ainsley didn't know how to interpret it. He seemed to come to a decision though there was no way to know about what. "When yer mum 'n sister are well 'n Brendan's about, we'll have a talk."

His tone made her uneasy, but she nodded and smiled as if it were any other day. Setting the tray on his lap, she tucked a towel over his chest. "Have th' soup 'n tea while I look in on Mum 'n Winnie."

"Where be Natasha?"

"Clint's at t' th' loch 'n she's goan after him."

Gavin picked up the bowl and spoon. "When they've returned, ask them t' come in for a wee chat."

Hearing movement, Ainsley hurried into the other bedroom to find her mother and sister both sitting on the side of their beds. She hugged Winifred then her mother. Edeen brushed the hair from Ainsley's forehead and placed a small kiss there. "Och, m' wee darlin'. What's been goan on?"

"Ye've all had a sickness, Mum. I dinnae know what t' do. Natasha 'n Clint came 'round t' help." Seeing that her mother was determined to get up, she didn't utter a word of protest. Just put an arm around her waist, letting Edeen lean on her. "We've tea 'n broth if ye'd care t' eat."

Soft footsteps behind them foretold Winifred's trek out to the other room. Both women seated themselves at the table while Ainsley bustled about, filling bowls and cups. "Eat that up while I see t' Da."

"I'm here, my loves." Gavin took his place at the head of the table, Winifred and Edeen each briefly taking hold of a hand before going back to their meal, such as it was. Over his shoulder he asked, "Ainsley, love, would ye go 'n fetch Clint 'n Natasha?"

"Aye, Da." The girl rushed to do her father's biding, certain he'd sent her on the errand so the three of them could talk in private. They'd been doing it more lately than before, and Ainsley's curiosity nearly got the best of her. But she did as she was told, running through the forest in the same direction Natasha had gone.

As she neared the loch, she heard sounds at once strange and familiar: two people fighting. Quickening her pace, she came upon a shocking sight. In the clearing where Ainsley and Clint had shared a meal the day of their first meeting, Clint and Natasha were battling as if they intended to kill each other.

With a growl, Natasha flipped Clint and he fell onto his back, seeming to have the wind knocked out of him. But before Natasha could make her move, Clint brought his knees to his chest and rolled to his feet.

To give herself room to consider her next move, Natasha had taken several steps back, her hands curling into fists as they came up to guard her face.

Ainsley watched the scene with horrid fascination, unable to move.

Clint assumed the same stance as Natasha, and the two of them continued to strike out without connecting, each blow blocked by the other. Natasha swung at Clint's head, missing when he ducked.

Ainsley gasped as Clint stayed hunched over, turned and tackled Natasha to the ground. They rolled around then, at some unspoken signal, they separated, going in opposite directions. While Clint was turned slightly to the side, Natasha ran at him, jumped up and wrapped both legs around his neck. She twisted and Clint flew through the air to land some distance away, clearly stunned.

He pushed to his hands and knees, but before he could stand, Natasha kicked his arms out from under him. He landed on his stomach again, breathing hard. Natasha pulled the knife from its sheath, dropped to one knee, grabbed Clint's hair with the other hand and brought the blade of the knife to Clint's throat.

Powerless to stop it this time, Ainsley screamed, "NO!"

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive brother

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive sister

Macduff, stables

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 19**

Natasha's head whipped around at Ainsley's horrorstruck scream a split second before the girl swung a branch at her head. Dropping the knife, Natasha dove to the side, rolled and came up with a branch of her own, blocking Ainsley downward strike. "I'll no let ye hurt him!"

Keeping her voice even and composed, Natasha said, "I'm not going to _hurt_ him, Ainsley. We were…"

But the girl wasn't listening. She continued to attack, and it was obvious that Ainsley had some knowledge of tactics because she was attempting to back Natasha into a corner, so to speak. Natasha, knowing better than to allow herself to be trapped, changed direction hoping to tire the girl out so she'd listen to reason. She could easily disarm Ainsley, but preferred to let the situation play out.

"Ye claim t' love him, but yer tryin' t' do him in!"

Ainsley's attacks, while not military perfect, were skilled for her age and size. "I _do_ love him."

"Ye've not told th' full truth since comin' t' Laomainn. Why should I believe ye now?"

Without seeing Clint's face, Natasha knew he was thinking the same thing she was, that Ainsley's subconscious remembered more of her life as Annabelle than could be consciously recalled.

Standing her ground, Natasha dipped her chin a fraction of an inch as a signal to Clint. Ainsley raised the branch over her right shoulder preparing for another assault, her swing stopped by Clint. He moved around to where Ainsley could see him so she would know he hadn't been hurt. Her expression of anger turned on him, changing to confusion that he appeared to be completely unharmed. "I'm not hurt, Rosie. Let go. Please."

As though she were in a trance, Ainsley released her hold. Tossing the branch aside, he got down on one knee in front of her, concerned by the look in her eyes. Those wide blue orbs, identical to her Clint's, stared at nothing for a while then slowly met his. "The fightin'. I've seen ye do it before."

Again, Clint looked at Natasha then back to the girl. "When, Ainsley? _When_ did you see it?"

"It were…" The question cooled some but not all of her antagonism. She was breathing too fast, almost panting. Her expression faltered as she struggled to bring the exact circumstances to mind. Shaking her head, she stuttered, "I-I dinnae remember. But I can _see_ it in my head clear as day. I'm lookin' through a window 'n…"

"Look at me. Rosie? Look at me!" The sharp tone of Clint's voice seemed to get through, and Ainsley finally let her eyes meet his again, her head tilting back as he got to his feet. "See? I'm not hurt. We do this all the time."

Ainsley's forehead crinkled in puzzlement. "Ye battle each other?"

One side of Clint's mouth turned up in an ironic smile. "Aye. Well, it's more like…"

"Play fightin'."

Natasha could see that Ainsley was starting to understand. Moving over to stand next to Clint as he stood up to his full height again, Natasha leaned against him. He pulled her close and she looked up at him with affection. "Sort of."

Shaking her head, Ainsley looked at the ground. "Ye must think I've goan peculiar, me thinkin' ye were really tryin' t' do each other in."

"It's understandable," Natasha told her truthfully. "We do get a little overzealous sometimes."

"Overzealous?"

Clint chuckled at the expression on the girl's face. "Excited."

Nodding, Ainsley's eyes scanned the glen, but Natasha couldn't say what she was looking for. Ainsley took a deep breath and let it out. "'N this play fightin'…"

"Sparring."

"Sparrin'." She tried the word out, giving her approval. "Why do ya do it?"

Natasha and Clint shared a glance, each waiting for the other to answer. Finally, Natasha said, "Th' same reason ya practice with th' bow."

Ainsley thought that over for a while and didn't seem to find any hidden traps. Then, she slapped herself on the forehead. "Ye frightened me such that I forgot. They're all up 'n about. Sent me t' bring ye."

Clint hadn't bathed yet, but after what just happened, it didn't seem important. And to Natasha's relief, his hearing had returned again. Not completely, but enough that he could contribute to conversations without too much trouble. To Ainsley, he said, "That's very good news."

Ainsley took off, glancing over her shoulder to be certain they were following then faced front again. Clint heaved a silent sigh and Natasha echoed it. In ASL, she said, "They're going to tell her."

"I know," Clint responded.

There was a long pause, then, "We have to stop them."

Again, Clint sighed. "I know_._"

~~O~~

The door closed behind Ainsley, and the only sounds within the stone walls of the McKenna home was the crackling of the fire, sipping of tea and broth as well as the occasional cough, sniffle or clearing of the throat.

When he was certain his youngest child had gone Gavin finished the last of his tea and set the mug aside, folding his hands in front of him. Winifred gave him her full attention, but Edeen pretended an interest in her meal that went far beyond what was warranted. Gavin stopped her by placing his larger hand over hers. "Edeen, love, we have t' talk."

Abruptly pushing away from the table, Edeen turned away. She went to the fire and stirred the embers with a poker. The fire came to life again, but she continued to jab the burning logs until Gavin's footsteps stopped behind her. "Ye want t' tell Ainsley th' truth o' how she came to us."

"Aye. First we have t' speak on th' other." Taking her hand, Gavin led his wife to the small sofa. The girls' bedroom door closed, Winifred giving them privacy. "I know ye dinnae want it, but she should know that Clint 'n Natasha are them that gave birth to her."

"They've been about for _days_, Gavin. How do ye know they haven't told her already?"

Gavin held his wife's hand until she looked at him. "Because they're honorable, love. Th' night they were here, they could've taken her then 'n been well within their rights t' do so, but they dinnae say a word. I dinnae believe they would speak of it without first comin' t' us."

A tear slid down her cheek and Gavin used his thumb to wipe it away. The sound of voices approaching stopped him from saying anything more. The door opened and Ainsley rushed to Gavin's side. His girl had an odd look on her face. Giving Clint and Natasha a questioning glance, he wasn't surprised to see their expressions flat, revealing nothing. A shake of their heads convinced him that they hadn't spoken to Ainsley of her true parentage.

"Winifred, take Ainsley out t' th' barn 'n check that th' animals have been seen to."

"Aye, Da." Winifred held her hand out and Ainsley reluctantly took it. "Come. We'll play with th' barn cat 'n her wee bebes."

When the door had closed behind the girls, Gavin gestured for Clint and Natasha to join he and Edeen near the fire. Wariness in their expression and the way they held their bodies told Gavin they knew what he had in mind and didn't approve. Even physically weak from the illness, his mind was strong as ever. "We want t' thank ye for all ya done for this family. Without yer help tendin' the farm n' takin' care o' us, there's nae tellin' what coulda happened. As well, we thank ye for keepin' th' secret o' yerselves from Ainsley."

Natasha started to speak, but Gavin put his hand up for silence. "But it's time she knew th' truth. All of it."

~~O~~

Coming from plowing the fields, Brendan turned the ox out into the corral, fed him and the other animals, gave them all fresh water then dragged the plow into the barn. Winifred and Ainsley were in one of the stalls playing with the four-week old kittens and their mum. He crouched down to give the older cat's ears a good rub. "Winnie, love. You're out o' bed at last."

"Aye. Woke up this noon. Mum 'n Da too." With her eyes, Winifred looked first at Ainsley then toward the house, giving a small shake of her head.

Brendan slapped his thighs and stood. "Glad t' see yer up 'n about. I'll stop t' see Mum 'n Da then get on home. Love t' ya both."

He gave each sister a brief kiss on the cheek then left, closing the barn door. With quick strides, he went to the house. As he approached, he heard loud, angry voices. His Mum and Da's mixed with the two strangers who'd tended to the sick in the village. He reached for the door as it was opened from the inside. The Lockharts shot glares at him though he sensed that it wasn't for his presence, but for the subject about which they'd been arguing. Pushing past, the couple jumped aboard the wagon, Clint taking the reins and setting the horses in motion.

Together, Brendan, Edeen and Gavin watched them go then Brendan faced his parents. "What's th' kerfuffle about?"

~~O~~

The sun was nearly down when they reached the main road. Clint pulled the wagon to a stop, tied off the reins and jumped to the ground, pacing angrily back and forth, stopping when Natasha stepped into his path. He huffed. "Why are Scots so freakin' _stubborn?_"

Natasha poked him in the chest. "_You_ should talk."

With a wry smile, he pointed at her then himself. "Pot, kettle, black."

She turned one of her glares on him, but couldn't maintain it and they both chuckled. She wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him to her for a long anticipated kiss. She backed off when he tried to deepen the kiss. The smile she presented him with gave a small amount of insight into her frame of mind. "The decision to tell Ainsley the truth is out of our hands, Clint from the day she went through the portal."

He inhaled then exhaled. "Had to at least _try_ to change their minds."

"I know." Her smile changed, became loving with a generous dose of mischief as she made a suggestion that he was totally on board with. "How about a road trip? We can stop along the way and…aaahhh!"

Clint picked Natasha up, set her in the wagon and climbed up beside her, flicking the reins. "Gi' up!"

**Noon the Next Day**

Natasha awakened from a very pleasant dream to Clint shaking her. "We're here."

She yawned and sat up, throwing off the blanket. Clint jumped down and reached up to help her down. "The return trip took twice as long."

His hands still on her waist, a lopsided smile appeared accompanied by that playful twinkle. "That's 'cause we stopped along the way. Several times."

Chuckling, Natasha let her forehead rest on his chest. "It's a wonder we didn't break an axle or scare the horses. What is it with you anyway? No sex for over a decade and now you can't seem to get enough."

"Making up for lost time, Nat." She looked up at him and he claimed a long, hot kiss that ended when Macduff called out.

"That ye, Mistress Lockhart?"

Mildly annoyed at being interrupted, Natasha called out, "Aye." At Clint's questioning look, she nodded at the stable. Clint's hearing had again deserted him. For them to carry on a conversation, she had to make sure he was looking at her. Stepping out of his arms, she entered the stables to settle their bill and thank the horseman for his kindness.

Outside, Natasha took Clint's hand and headed for the inn. They entered the tavern, a request for tankards of ale on their lips only to be waylaid by Griselda.

The older woman threw her hands in the air, calling out, "Och! There ye be! We've had some excitement here abouts while ye was gone."

Clint tugged on Natasha's sleeve. "What did she say?"

Natasha waved for him to be quiet. "Griselda, what happened?"

Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, Griselda blinked rapidly a few times. "It were th' McKenna girl, th' youngest. She come here carryin' on wantin' t' know where ye gone. When I told th' dear child ye dinnae say where ye were goin', she started wailing up a storm. Took off like the devil himself were after her."

Natasha only got through part of the translation for Clint before he took her hand and dragged her toward the door. Doing her best to keep up, Natasha said over her shoulder, "We're borrowing the wagon!"

The door closing cut off Griselda's response. The animals were running around in the paddock seeming to be playing some sort of game. The horses saw Clint and Natasha and came to greet them. Clint opened the gate leading first one then the other to the wagon. Natasha hooked up the first while Clint did the second. She climbed aboard and already had the reins in hand when he joined her. As soon as he was seated, she flicked the reins. "Gi' up!"

Setting the fastest pace possible without overturning the wagon, Natasha, and presumably Clint, mentally kicked herself. They'd both agreed that Ainsley would take a day or so to get used to the idea that the people who'd raised her weren't her natural family. Looking back, she should've known better. They both should have seen this. Ainsley was equal parts of both of them. In the same situation, neither she nor Clint would've waited to initiate a confrontation.

Feeling very selfish for the time they'd taken for themselves, with a sizable amount of guilt and remorse, Natasha handed the reins over to Clint so they could talk. He seemed to understand and didn't complain.

She signed, "This is _my_ fault."

"_Our_ fault. It was a mutual decision to go on that little side trip."

"But it was _my_ idea."

Clint looked at her then back to the road. "And I went along with it. As far as I'm concerned, we're both to blame for whatever's happened. I just hope she didn't do anything…"

Natasha stopped him with a hand over his mouth. When she had his attention again, she said, "Ainsley wouldn't do anything stupid. At least not what you're thinking. What we're _both_ thinking. I'm sure she's okay. Griselda said she was crying, not hysterical. It's been a while so she's had time to calm down."

"I hope you're right."

Silently, Natasha echoed the sentiment. _Me too._

~~O~~

Clint and Natasha arrived at the McKenna farm, Gavin and Winifred coming out to greet them with sad faces. Gavin watched them jump down giving them a puzzled stare though he didn't say a word. He just nodded in the direction of the house then followed them inside.

Squeezing Natasha's hand, Clint indicated that she should speak for them.

"Where is she?"

Winifred, not as adept at hiding her feelings, glared at them both in turn, her eyes settling on Natasha. "We dinnae know. She went t' find ye some hours ago 'n we've not seen her since."

A small sound of distress drew Natasha's attention to Edeen pacing in front of the fire wringing her hands. Natasha went to her side, putting an arm around her shoulders, one mother comforting another. Clint's ears started ringing again, this one signaling that his hearing was returning. With a mental growl of frustration, he stuck a finger in each ear and wiggled. He had no idea why that helped, but it did, and he thanked God it worked this time. At least now he could follow the conversation.

Gavin stepped forward. In just the last twelve hours, he'd regained most of his healthy color though he still moved stiffly. "When ye realized that our Ainsley was yer Annabelle, why dinnae ye say so?"

"Because you're her family."

"As are _ye_. Yet ye said nothing."

Natasha sat beside Edeen, the women holding onto each other tightly. Looking over at Gavin, she said, "Because we dinnae want t' upset her or you. She was but two when she became a part of yer family. We hadn't th' right t' take her from ya."

Gavin sighed wearily, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He did look more healthy now than the last time Clint had seen him, but the effects of the illness would take longer to go away. Natasha saw and let him have the seat next to his wife, taking her hand and whispering quietly to her. She let out a long exhalation then nodded to her husband. "Ye had every right. The lass is yer blood, yer legacy. We're grateful that ye dinnae want t' cause distress, but it was time for th' lass t' know th' truth of herself. 'N _ye_ deserve t' have her with ye, if that's yer wish."

Crouching in front of the other couple, Natasha asked, "Edeen, does Ainsley have a place she goes when she's upset or hurt or angry?"

"Shootin' th' bow helps calm her. She loves climbin' as well."

"Trees! She climbs th' tree nae far from th' entrance t' th' forest," Clint interrupted. "That's where she was th' first time I saw her."

Seeing Natasha looking at him and smiling, the McKennas' expressions changed and Clint found himself under the close scrutiny of four sets of eyes. "What?"

Gavin spoke for the group. "Ye should go, Clint."

Pointing to himself, Clint exclaimed, "_Me?_ Why?"

Edeen finally showed some willingness to include Clint nd Natasha. "Ye share the bond of a father 'n child. That bond was broken by them that took Ainsley-Annabelle from ye, 'n it must be made whole again."

Getting to her feet, Natasha took his hand, giving him a loving smile. "Edeen's right. 'N our daughter always was a Daddy's girl."

His eyes once more found each of the others'. "As long as we're agreed that whatever Ainsley decides, we respect 'n don't try t' talk her out of it."

One by one, each nodded in agreement. Clint embraced Natasha, feeling her nails digging into his back in a small show of emotion that told him she'd been holding it together for the sake of the McKennas.

Going to the barn, Clint put a bridle on one of the horses and leapt onto his back. Turning him in the direction of the loch and the forest trail, he tried to organize his thoughts, but they just kept spinning. He'd wanted to be the one to go after Ainsley, but now that it was a done deal, he had no idea what to say. _I'll think of something…hopefully._

He spurred the horse to greater speed with a quick heel dig into his flanks. "Gi' up."

~~O~~

Having climbed as high as she could, Ainsley sat on a thick branch with her back to the trunk of the tree, one knee up and the other foot swinging back and forth as she thought over what she'd been told.

When she, Clint and Natasha returned from the loch, Mum and Da seemed unhappy, making Ainsley wonder if it was something she'd done. She'd insisted on serving her family hot tea with honey and what was left of the chicken soup Natasha had made. When they had their fill, she'd been certain that one of them would explain the strange goings on, but no one did.

Lying in her bed that night listening to Winifred's breathing, Ainsley tried to think what had caused their world to get so disordered, but had been unable to figure it out. She'd eventually succumbed to sleep, awakened as she usually was by the crowing of the cock at dawn.

Upon returning from the garderobe, she'd found that her family hadn't heard the crowing and were still asleep. This only being their second day of wellness, Ainsley decided that they should have a lie-in while she made breakfast. Her cooking skills weren't the best, but she could handle porridge and tea. Then later she would make more of the chicken soup and add to it for a heartier meal. And her mum's biscuits would go nicely.

But all of Ainsley's plans for the day shattered into tiny pieces when she was told of her true origins. That the child her new friends had been searching for was none other than herself. Looking back now, the signs were there. Clint's skill with the bow, the same color eyes, the odd feeling that they had some sort of connection. Some had called it kindred souls and she had felt it with both Clint and Natasha from the beginning.

There was also the strong sense that what Mum and Da had told her was only part of the story. Why else would the strange visions of flying machines and people she didn't know keep invading her waking and sleeping dreams? So, the next chapter of the story would have to come from her real parents, Clint and Natasha.

Tingling along her spine alerted her to the presence of another a moment before a familiar voice said, "Hello, Rosie."

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 20**

"Ye've called me that b'fore." Ainsley heard accusation in her tone with no idea why. He wasn't solely responsible for the emotional turmoil she'd endured in the last few hours. To hear them tell the story, Mum, Da, Winnie, Brendan, Clint _and_ Natasha had been dealing with it for years.

"A term of endearment. Your full name is-or _was_-Annabelle Rose. Rosie." Clint reached up and grasped the lowest branch, all weight on one foot with a hip stuck out to the side. There was much about him that she could now see in herself. The little dents in her cheeks when she smiled, the color of her eyes, her love of climbing and the bow. But what part of Natasha could she point to and say, "Och. Now I see it."

Looking down, Ainsley saw Clint's upturned face watching her with relief that he'd found her and apprehension uneasiness about the reception he would receive. The strange thing was that she'd known it would be he that came looking and that he'd know just where to find her. He _always_ knew. Even when she was small, he always found her when she hid. And now he was waiting to see if she would make him welcome or not. "Ye can come up, if yer of a mind to."

The tree shook as Clint climbed to the branch just below her level, taking a seat on the one that would hold his greater weight. He assumed a pose similar to hers, but with his right arm resting on the upraised knee.

The two of them played a waiting game. She could be patient when she had to, so they sat there not talking for a long time. Or so it seemed to her. She wanted-_needed_ answers and the only way to get them was to ask questions, starting with, "I dinnae know what t' call ya."

"That's up to you. Clint is fine for now. Maybe later…" He looked at her then away. Not as if he were embarrassed or ashamed, but more to hide what he was feeling. "When you were small, you called us Mommy and Daddy. Then Natasha taught you to call us Matushka and Pápochka."

"That's nae from these lands, is it?"

Clint chuckled. "No. It's Russian. We thought it important that you learn your moth-, um, Natasha's native language as well as English."

Suddenly feeling nervous, Ainsley nodded and lapsed into silence again. About the time she felt she could bear it no longer, Clint started talking, his tone as if he were speaking to himself and letting her listen in.

"I've always liked being up high. My mother freaked out the first time she found me on the roof."

Ainsley's ears pricked up at the ever so slight hesitation before his last word, as if he'd been about to say something else. Now wasn't the time to speak though. Now was the time for silence.

"As soon as I could reach, I started climbing trees. At first, Barney had to boost me then I figured out how to do it on my own, and after that, the sky was the limit. I climbed anything and everything that would hold my weight. But my favorite was the big tree in back of the house. I would sit up there for hours.

"Then, just after I turned six, it had been raining for _days_. It stopped on the way home from church and I went right to the tree. My father got angry because I'd gotten my good clothes dirty. He told me to go to my room and stay there until he said I could come out. I told him I hated him and wished he were dead. That night, Mom and Dad were killed in an accident. Barney and I stayed with the neighbors and the next day, we were taken to an orphanage."

Though she planned on staying quiet and just letting him talk, Ainsley interrupted. "Orphanage?"

He glanced at her and away again to hide the sadness. "It's a place where children go to live when there's no one to take them in."

"Ye have a brother then."

Running his fingers over the rough bark, he again spoke as if he were alone. "Not any more. He passed on too. Mom and Dad didn't have any family so I'm all that's left."

The set of his shoulders spoke of great distress, and Ainsley wanted to do something to ease it, but couldn't. Not until she knew the whole truth, but she wasn't quite ready to hear it yet. She wanted to know, yet she didn't.

He surprised her by saying, "You think we lied to you."

Since he was speaking plain, she would too. "Aye. Even when I accused ye, it were more lies."

Abruptly, Clint reached out and touched the back of her hand, the roughness reminding her of the days when they'd walk hand in hand through a small woods that had a patch of sand and metal trees for climbing.

"It's true that we weren't completely honest with you _or_ the people of Laomainn, but we never lied about the important things. We came here to find our daughter, and when we realized it was you…"

Looking away in embarrassment, Ainsley stated, "Ye said Annabelle were about six. I'll be _twelve_ in three months' time."

This time, he did look uncomfortable. "_That_ is a very long story. Just try to keep an open mind."

Ainsley shook her head as if Clint were a bit dim in the head. "Och. Since th' sickness, ye have a strange way o' speakin'. Are ye certain it dinnae turn ye peculiar?"

Clint removed his hand from her, inhaled then exhaled loudly while rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but that happened long before the sickness. Let's save that story for later. And FYI, uh, for your information, _this_ is my real voice."

Ainsley took hold of the hand lying on his knee, giving it a squeeze and smiling in encouragement when he looked at her. "Please tell th' tale. Th' one about you 'n me 'n _her_. About how we became lost t' each other."

"Sure. If you have any questions, just ask. And remember: open mind." Reaching behind him, he brought out a waterskin, took a drink then passed it to her. "Okay. Here goes. Natasha and I come from a country that doesn't exist in this time. At least not in the way _we_ know it."

"_This_ time?"

He laughed, but it wasn't a humorous kind of sound. "What year is it?"

"It be the Year of Our Lord, 1674." She would've said more, but Clint put his hand up for silence.

"Nat and I came here from almost three hundred-fifty years in the future."

Startled, Ainsley began to fall sideways off the branch. From this height, she'd surely be killed. With lightning quickness, Clint caught her, just as he'd done the day she fell from the balcony. Setting her upright, he waited until she regained her balance before letting go. "I-I dinnae understand. Mum 'n Da said…"

"It's not their fault. They don't know the whole story, and wouldn't believe it if they did." Both hands in his lap, he took another deep breath and let it out before continuing, again as if he were talking to himself. "You were born in June of the, uh, Year of Our Lord, 2012. He said the next in the voice she thought of as his up until the sickness, and just barely kept from giggling. "In our hearts, Natasha and I know that our Annabelle is _you_, Ainsley McKenna."

~~O~~

Clint caught and held Ainsley's gaze, willing her to believe him, and what he saw told him she was still skeptical. "I get it. You want irrefutable proof." She nodded once, crossing her arms stubbornly. "What about this? You have a place on your…backside in the shape of a star."

"H-how do ya know that then?"

"Changed my share of diapers. And your mother has one just like it on _her_ backside." She seemed to accept his explanation though now her cheeks were tinged with pink. _Oh, crap! I've embarrassed her. Way to go, __Dad!_ _And she doesn't remember much of the future so make the rest easy for her to understand. _ "One day, Nat and I took you with us to the office. We were in one of the labs, um, that's sort of like a kitchen for scientists and doctors. Dr. Selvig was testing a device. When it was powered up, it made this giant whirlpool in space that has like a tunnel inside it. Step into the tunnel and you travel from one _place_ to another and from one _time_ to another. In your case, you traveled from Quantico, Virginia, 2014 to Loch Lomond Scotland, 1664.

"We tried to go after you, but the tunnel collapsed when the machine exploded. It took more than three years for Selvig and his team to fix it. As soon as it was ready, Nat and I came through. We had no way of knowing what happened to you because, in our time, almost nothing of Laomainn remains. This whole area is a park."

He stopped to gauge her level of understanding. She wasn't asking questions, but he didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign or if she was saving them.

"We spent our first week here looking at every girl who appeared to be the age you should've been, but there was always something not quite right. Wrong color hair or eyes, nose too big, too little or too crooked, no birthmark, whatever." Clint gave her time to let everything sink in then began again.

"One day we realized that we'd been looking in the wrong place. Selvig had gotten us here later than he was supposed to and the baby girl we were looking for was a young woman. We wanted to tell you then and there, but didn't. The excitement we felt when we knew we'd get to hold you and never let you go again… Then, we realized that we had to consider the feelings of the people who'd raised you as their own. They didn't care where you'd come from or how you got to Laomainn. All they knew was that they loved you and you loved them. We had no right to ask them to give you up. The night we stopped at your home, the decision was made to leave you with the only family you knew and just go home."

She was silent for a while, and Clint was about to move on to another subject when she asked, "Why did ya stay then? Why dinnae ye go back to the Quantico place?"

"Almost did, but there was a problem on the other end and we couldn't use the tunnel to get home. Eventually, we will, but not for another nine days." Reaching across his body, Clint removed the leather pouch tied to his belt. It jingled when he tossed and caught it. "It's also why I purposely lost the tournament. Money in our time is much different, and your family had the greater need."

Clint held it out to her. Ainsley glanced from the pouch to him and back several times before taking it and tying it to her own belt. With everything he'd said, she still needed more. Of course, she could be playing him. If so, she had a lot to learn.

"Still not convinced?" Her response was typical for anyone over the age of seven. She shrugged one shoulder then dropped her chin into her hand, the elbow planted firmly in her thigh, pretending to stare off into space. Reaching into one of his back pockets, Clint took out the digital recorder Fury sent through the vortex. "Maybe this will help."

Holding the small device in his left hand, his thumb flicked Play, and the disembodied voice of the Director of SHIELD filled the air. "_Agents Barton and Romanoff. I'm very sorry to have to give you this news, but the device by which you traveled to your present location has malfunctioned. Even if you had been in the exact place and time that it was opened, you would not have been able to enter the portal. If this recording has reached you…"_

The recorder continued to play as Ainsley snatched it from his hand, her head tilted to one side like a dog listening to its owner talk without really understanding the words. "That's th' man!"

"What man?"

"Sometimes I hear a voice in m' head 'n he's wantin' me t' call him Uncle…Uncle…"

Clint waited, but she couldn't recall the name. "Nick."

Her free hand clenched on Clint's left arm, her short nails digging into his flesh, excitement showing in her blue eyes. "Aye! He-He has brown skin 'n a…" She covered her left eye.

"Eye patch. Nick Fury. We work for him, your mother and me. He's also our friend." Watching Ainsley examining the recorder with a puzzled expression, Clint trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Ainsley believed him. Believed that _he_ was her father, that _Natasha_ was her mother, and that they came from the future, and would be returning there soon. "Natasha has no family either. Her parents died when she was seven."

Ainsley finally found the right button and Fury's voice fell silent. "So all that's left is we three fer both families?"

"Uh-huh." Clint twitched his shoulders, a small smile coming to his face. "We have lots of friends though. People we care about and who care about us-and _you_-so we do okay in the family department. Plus there's Edeen, Gavin, Winifred, Brendan, Cristie, George and, uh," Clint snapped his fingers, "what's his name, Winifred's boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?"

"It's, well, for girls, it's a boy or young man they like or even love."

"Oh! Betrothed!"

"No. Well, yes. Sort of." Clint watched the confusion on Ainsley's face and grinned when she brightened with understanding.

"Adam."

"Right." She passed the recorder over and Clint shoved it in his pocket. "You probably have lots of questions, so go ahead. Ask."

Scooting around, she watched several emotions flit across his face. But the one that stayed the longest was sadness. "Ye 'n Natasha dinnae birth more bairns?"

"No." He'd presented her with his profile, now he faced her again. "You are, well, your birth was a miracle. Even with the medical technology available in the twenty-first century, chances are very slim that we'll ever be able to have another child of our own. We'd have to adopt, but we've never talked about it so…" He shrugged one shoulder. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she seemed utterly fascinated by the color and texture. Peering around the trunk of the tree, Clint tried to get her to look at him, but she turned away. "Are you pissed at me and Nat or don't know what question to ask first?"

"All of it."

Ainsley shoved her hand into a pocket and pulled out something he couldn't see though he had an idea. "How about I tell you a story?" That got her attention again and she nodded. "Pizza was your favorite food so, for your second birthday, we took you to a place called Jerry, the Jester's Carnival of Fun. We ate pizza then opened presents. Your favorite was this ridiculous pink stuffed rabbit. It had these long floppy ears," he used his hands to illustrate, "and a puffy tail. You named him ZAychik. That's Russian for bunny. This guy dressed as a clown comes out to entertain the kids. When he got to our table, he picked up ZAychik and it made you angry. You kicked him in the, uh, naughty bits and called him a bad name."

"What name?"

"It was something in Russian. Nat knew you'd heard it from _me_ and she was furious. Didn't speak to me for a week, and only then because she brought you to stay with me while she was out of town for work."

Clint cringed at the gasp from Ainsley, remembering too late that the society she'd been a part of for ten years frowned on divorce, sex outside of marriage and adultery. But how to explain shared custody with someone you'd never slept with and weren't married to?

"Ye dinnae live with yer _wife?_"

"She wasn't my wife at that time. How do I…okay, here goes. In the twenty-first century, it's common for two people to have a child together without the benefit of marriage whether they live together or not. Lots of couples _do_ get married, but just as many _don't,_ and no one thinks any less of them."

Nodding as if she understood, Ainsley turned a wary eye on him. "If this be th' truth, what size is ZAychik?"

Holding his hands about eighteen inches apart, Clint said, "With the ears, about yea big."

What she was holding came from where she'd hidden it out of his sight: a stuffed pink bunny. Holding it by the tips of the ears, she held him up, gauging the size against his guess. Almost perfect. And still she doubted him, as proven by her next statement. "Natasha's seen it. She coulda told ye."

"Did she also tell me that ZAychik has a spot on his left foot where it got caught on a swing at the park?" He had her now. Though why she would believe the rabbit story and not the one about the birthmark, Clint didn't know.

Uncharacteristically, Ainsley fumbled the toy. It fell to land on a branch about twelve feet down. They looked at it then at each other with equally peeved expressions that turned sly. Clint mentally counted down from three, and at the exact moment, they headed into a race to see who would reach the toy first. Clint didn't hold back like he had at the archery tournament. He grabbed the toy a millisecond before Ainsley did, holding it up triumphantly. Gripping it around the chest, he wiggled it at her then handed it over. "Ready to go back?"

Ainsley thought it over and nodded. They climbed down to the ground and walked together to the horse. "Ride?"

This time she didn't think about it. "Aye."

Clint held his hands out, silently asking if she wanted to be picked up. For an answer, she put her hands on his shoulders. He easily lifted her onto the beast's back then jumped up behind her. His back and shoulder still ached sometimes where he'd been hit with the caber, but he ignored it. Unsure if Ainsley would permit him to hold onto her, he kept his right hand on his thigh, reaching around with his left to hold the reins.

"When do th' tunnel return?"

Looking up at the sky to gauge the approximate time of day, counting in his head, Clint said, "Eight days, and about sixteen hours or so. Noon or so on the ninth day. We'll go the night before to make sure we're there on time."

She seemed to be thinking it over and Clint hoped that meant she would be coming home with them. Looking over her shoulder, he saw she was keeping her features carefully neutral. "'N where would th' tunnel be openin'?"

"You remember where we first met? There by the loch where the blue flowers grow." Again, she turned thoughtful, not speaking for the rest of the ride. When they reached the house, they led the horse into the barn where they fed and watered him then brushed him down together. As Clint was just starting on the tail, Ainsley spoke again.

"Da taught me t' shoot th' bow when I was a wee lass, no more 'n five. He says that's th' first he'd done it, but I kept seein' myself with another that wasnae m' da. His arms are around me, helpin' me pull th' bow string 'n tellin' me how it's done. The breathin', stillness, 'n focus. Never hit th' target, but this man…he carried on like I won first prize at th' king's tournament." Clint paused in his brushing when she said, "Now I know it were ye."

"Every time I went to the range, you wanted to go along. Even tried to use my bow. The one at home. It's longer than you were tall though you did try. Later, I made a bow in your size and arrows with soft tips so you wouldn't get hurt. And teaching you to hit the target wasn't the only goal. It was a bonding experience. Something we could share."

"Yer skill with th' bow is why I stayed t' watch ye that first day. That 'n the runnin' 'n jumpin'. My heart near stopped when ye stood on th' beast's back t' jump into th' tree." Ainsley continued to brush the horse's mane, removing brambles that had gotten tangle in the long hairs. Then she stopped and looked at him with a puzzled stare. "What do I share with _her?_"

"Natasha?" One side of Clint's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "You both have this look you give me when you think I'm being an a-, uh, dafty that makes me feel very bad. I call it her death glare." She blinked uncomprehendingly, making him chuckle. "There's a saying 'if looks could kill'. _That's_ a death glare."

Nodding as if she understood, Ainsley went back to work, she and Clint finishing at the same time. He gave the horse a quick nose scratch and followed Ainsley from the barn. As they walked across the yard, she slipped her hand into his and looked up at him with a smile. "We have t' wash up before goin' inside."

At the well, Ainsley set a bucket under the spout and Clint pumped the handle until it was full then exchanged it for another. When the second one was full, she handed him a chunk of soap. "It were th' song that got me t' thinkin'. Th' one from th' tournament."

"It was one of your favorites. At bedtime, you wanted to hear it over and over."

She finished washing up before he did, rinsed and stood there waiting. There was something in the way she wasn't looking at him that tipped him off about her intentions, but not before she grabbed the ladle, scooped it through the water and threw it in his face. Startled, he stumbled back a step, wiping his eyes clear to see Ainsley laughing with one hand over her mouth and the other still holding the ladle.

"So _that's_ how it is, huh?" Cupping both hands, he pushed them through the water and up. Ainsley tried to jump back out of the way, but didn't quite make it. She was hit in the chest and the lower half of her face. Sputtering in mock indignation, she copied his movement at the same time he brought a hand down and across to splash a generous amount of water all over her.

Ainsley screeched in response, picking up the bucket and throwing the last from the bucket on the back of his neck when he ducked. Still bent at the waist, he turned to look at her, and his intent must've been in his eyes, because her eyes went wide with pretend horror as she dropped the empty bucket and took off running.

Clint grabbed the second bucket and chased her around the yard until she darted behind a tree. Now both were laughing as they went back and forth with the tree between them. He faked her out and came around, the bucket held high over his head. She started to run, returning when he didn't pursue, her laughter fading away. "Clint?"

The ringing in his ears started again, this time accompanied by incredible pain. He dropped the bucket, the last of the water soaking into the ground unnoticed by either of them. Pressing his hands over his ears, he waited for the bells and the pain to subside, but instead, it got worse, driving him to his knees. "Aaaahhh!"

Through the agony in his head, he heard Ainsley's calling out for Natasha, then nothing.

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Gavin McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive father

Edeen McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive mother

Winifred McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive sister

Brendan McKenna, Ainsley's adoptive brother

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Crom Gilroy, Tavish's friend

Cullen, Tavish's friend

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 21**

Natasha came from the bedroom after changing, adjusting the belt and knife. She smiled to herself at the sound of Clint and Ainsley laughing and chasing each other in the yard. It was something they started doing as soon as their daughter could walk. Ainsley would giggle when Clint caught her and swung her around in a circle. After which, he would let her chase him and pretend to be scared when caught.

She'd just rolled the sleeves up to below her elbows when the laughing abruptly cut off. The front door burst open, Ainsley's alarmed voice calling out, "Natasha! Come quick! Clint's hurt."

When she stepped out the front door, the girl grabbed her hand, dragging her to where Clint was on the ground moaning in pain, hands covering the sides of his head. She'd known this was going to happen, but hoped it would hold off until they were home.

Gavin, Edeen and Winifred followed her into the yard, watching fretfully from near the well pump, staying out of the way while she tended to him. Ainsley stayed with Natasha, kneeling next to Clint, a hand on his back, rubbing in circles and whispering words of comfort though Natasha doubted he could hear them.

Taking hold of his wrists, Natasha urged him to look at her, but his eyes were squeezed shut as if that would block the pain. He was very adept at hiding physical discomfort. For him to be rolling on the ground, it had to be bad. Framing his face with her hands, she forced his head up. Knowing he couldn't hear her, she gave him a little shake and he finally opened his eyes. She signed, "What's wrong?"

"It hurts like hell, Nat! Gah! _Do_ something!"

Responding to the almost crying tone of his voice, Natasha grabbed Ainsley's hand. "Get my bag from the wagon. The small one under the seat."

Without bothering to respond, Ainsley pushed to her feet and hurried away. She was back very shortly, dropping the bag and opening it. Natasha pulled the opening wide so she could see, her hand snatching out two vials and a syringe. Turning her back so the McKennas couldn't see, she filled the syringe with equal amounts of both clear fluids. She didn't have anything with which to cleanse the injections site so she chose a spot and jabbed the needle in, pressing the plunger.

Clint's moans tapered off and stopped a few minutes later. Slowly, he removed his hands and sat down rubbing his temples. "Crap! What the hell did you…"

To stop him from saying something he shouldn't, Natasha touched his cheek to get him to look at her. At the same time, Ainsley did the same on the other side. Both gave a minute shake of their head. His eyes shifted from one to the other with an odd expression. Signing, Natasha said, "Close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

~~O~~

Obediently, Clint closed his eyes and waited. And waited. A hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes. Ainsley's and Natasha's faces blurred just a little. He blinked to clear his vision, but they stayed blurry. Natasha moved in front of him to get his attention, her left hand signing, "You've lost your hearing. For good, I think. At least until we get home."

Clint pushed a hand through his hair and huffed. Until they could be alone, he too used ASL. "This sucks! It's almost nine days to the window."

"I know. And it's possible you might regain some of your hearing before then, but I wouldn't count on it." She got to her feet, motioning for him to do so as well.

Dizziness caused him to stumble, Ainsley and Natasha grabbing his arms to keep him from falling. For some reason, it made him giggle. "Don't know what that was you gave me, but I kinda like it. I should sit down somewhere." He started walking, and again Natasha was there to turn him around until he was facing the house. "Oh, yeah. That way."

Gavin rushed forward to help Natasha while Ainsley ran over to stand with Edeen, who put and arm around the girl. He scrunched up his face trying to think why that was wrong, but it wouldn't come to him.

Inside the house, Gavin and Natasha sat him on the sofa. Edeen and Winifred came over to give his hand a squeeze. Their mouths moved but he couldn't hear what they were saying, so he just smiled.

The McKennas and Natasha moved around the rooms, talking and giving him occasional apprehensive glances. One moment, time seemed to speed up, his companions moving around the room like a DVD on fast forward. Then, everything slowed down and stopped.

At one point, Ainsley took his hand to lead him to the table. A plate of food was put in front of him then Ainsley and Winifred each took a hand, the others bowing their heads in prayer. Afterward, he picked up the fork and ate everything, drank down three cups of tea and belched. Sitting across from him, Natasha bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. Edeen and Winifred looked annoyed, Gavin just rolled his eyes. However, Ainsley had such a look of pride on her pretty face that he couldn't resist hooking an arm around her neck and giving her a noogie. And as in the past, she giggled and pushed him away. There was something about that time he couldn't quite remember, but it made him sad.

Sometime later, fatigue came knocking. Clint yawned, stretched and scratched his stomach. Getting to his feet, he opened each of the doors, but didn't find what he was looking for. Natasha peered into his face, her hands signing, "What're you looking for?"

"The bathroom. I _really_ gotta pee." Nodding understanding, she took his hand and led him to the garderobe. He looked at it then at her. "You _gotta_ be kidding."

With mild humor, she shook no and gestured for him to proceed. When he was done, she drew him over to where he could wash his hands. He also splashed water on his face, but that didn't help the cobwebs invading his brain.

Tapping him on the shoulder, Natasha signed, "Sleepy?"

"Yeah."

Natasha then led him toward the front door, but they were stopped by Gavin. The two of them talked for a while, Natasha nodded and they changed directions, going into the second bedroom and to the bed closest to the window. She helped him remove his boots, vest, belt and knives, tucking them out of sight under the bed. Woozy from the drugs, Clint lay down on the bed when told to. Natasha pulled the covers over him, one hand gently touching his cheek and brushing the hair from his forehead. When she made to leave, Clint seized her hand in a loose hold. "Stay. Please." The smile she gave him included a generous helping of affection. Returning the smile, he kissed her fingers. "Love you, beautiful wife."

Again, that smile, wider this time. "I know."

"We goin' home soon?" His voice was slurred, but he didn't really care at the moment.

"In a few days."

Clint snuggled down into the softness of the mattress, pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes with a sigh. "Good. Can't wait to show off our beautiful baby girl to our friends."

The couple didn't see Ainsley standing in the doorway watching and listening. When Clint fell asleep, she quietly closed the door.

~~O~~

The McKenna family was sitting in front of the fire not talking. They all looked up when Natasha came out of the bedroom and, out of habit, quietly closed the door. A bomb could've gone off and Clint wouldn't have heard or felt it after the mixture of sedative and morphine she'd given him. She hadn't wanted to do it, but he'd begged her to do something about the pain. It would be a one-off because Clint didn't like taking mind-altering drugs of any kind, even to alleviate the pain of surgery. She'd keep it handy, just in case.

From the looks on the faces peering at her through the flickering fire and lamp light, Natasha knew what they'd been talking about. And though she didn't want to hear it, the words had to be said eventually. Never one to avoid confrontations, Natasha came to join them. "He'll sleep until morning."

Ainsley was sitting next to Edeen, the woman's arm around her daughter's shoulders. With a nod and a small push, the girl went to the front door and waited for Natasha to follow.

Outside, they went to the stump, Natasha automatically taking a seat while Ainsley stood. "Clint told me much of how it came that we were parted, 'n I'm certain there be more t' th' story. Much more. I know that ye 'n Clint would prefer it if I were t' go with ye when th' time come, 'n though ye be my real parents…"

"We're _not_ your real parents."

Now Ainsley was confused. "But Clint told th' story 'n I've been rememberin'…"

Natasha stood, placing her hands on Ainsley's shoulders until the girl looked at her. "It's true that Clint and I are your…in our time we would be called birth parents. Just because Edeen didn't give birth to you doesn't mean she's any less your mother than I am. Adoptive parents have the same legal rights as birth parents. So yes, we're your real parents in that you are genetically ours, but so are Edeen and Gavin McKenna. You should also know that we've all agreed to stand by whatever decision you make."

Nodding, Ainsley let Natasha know that she understood. "From yer words, I can tell that ye already know." She paused, squeezing Natasha's hand tighter. "When ye go back to th' future, I'll be stayin' behind."

Though Natasha had known, hearing it said out loud was still a blow. Her mouth dropped open and her legs didn't want to support her. She locked her knees to stay upright, only stumbling slightly when Ainsley wrapped her slender arms around her waist, holding on so tight Natasha could barely breathe. With one arm around Ainsley and the other on the back of her head keeping her close, Natasha felt the sting of tears in her eyes, but refused to let them fall. "_Ya budu vsegda lyubIt tebya_, Annabelle."

The front of Natasha's dress began to feel wet telling her that the choice Ainsley made today hadn't been as easy as it seemed. Her voice muffled, Ainsley whispered, "Ye could stay."

"We can't, _malyshka._ Your fa-_Clint_ needs medical treatment he can't get here."

"If ye go back to th' future, th' physicians could make him well again? He'd be able t' hear again?"

She kissed the top of Ainsley's head. "With surgery or hearing aids, it's possible." Eventually, Ainsley loosened her hold and moved back. Using the hem of her tunic, Natasha dabbed at the tears on her daughter's face, gave her what she hoped was a convincing smile and took the opportunity one last time to run a hand down the girl's long, curly hair. "Go on inside. I'll stay out here for a while."

Nodding, Ainsley headed for the house, stopping to angrily yank the hem of her dress free from where it had caught on a bucket sitting near the well pump. When she'd gone, Natasha pushed a hand through her hair then rubbed both temples. She wanted to just sit here and cry until she couldn't shed another tear. She also wanted to go back inside, but couldn't bear to see Ainsley with the McKennas and their joy at being the winners in the competition for Ainsley's love. She especially didn't want to see Clint's face when he was told, but as the mother of their child, it was her responsibility.

To prevent awkwardness with the sleeping arrangements, Natasha chose to sleep in the wagon. Tomorrow, she and Clint would return to the inn where they would stay until the night before their return home. It was petty, almost spiteful this avoiding the McKennas, but Natasha didn't care. She curled up under a blanket and cried herself to sleep.

Before she knew it, the rooster was announcing the start of a new day. The smell of food cooking made her stomach grumble reminding her that Clint would be up soon and looking for her. As she reached the door, it was opened from the inside, Clint stepping out with a piece of folded parchment in his hands. He waited for the McKennas to join him then unfolded the sides of the parchment. Cocking his arm back then forward quickly, he let it go, showing it to be a paper airplane. It sailed through the air to land almost thirty feet away. Though he couldn't hear it, the family cheered and clapped. Ainsley ran to bring it back, showing her family and telling them how he'd done it.

Natasha went to his side as they went inside to leave the couple alone. She signed, "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

Clint signed back, "Like the dead. The ladies have graciously made us breakfast."

"Hate to spoil your appetite, but we have to talk."

"Now?"

She placed her hand on his arm and nodded, eliciting a sigh. They walked over to the stump, Natasha motioning for Clint to have a seat. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and hand clasped between his knees waiting for her to begin. Rather than draw it out, she got right to the point. "Ainsley's decided to stay here."

His features stayed in that bland, slightly curious façade. After a long moment, he signed, "She told me."

"And you're not upset?"

"Very. But we did agree to let her make the decision without being pressured one way or the other. And it's not like it was unanticipated."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, this wasn't it. Where was the angry pacing? The swearing? The wanting to hit something? The volatile disposition he was famous for? "I thought she'd want _me_ to tell you."

Clint reached for Natasha, changing his mind when he realized they wouldn't be able to communicate. "I woke up with her asleep in the chair holding my hand, and I knew." He nodded at the house. "I'm guessing you're not hungry."

Instead of signing, she shook her head, letting him hold her close for a few moments of comfort they both needed. Footsteps approached, stopping a few feet away. From the sudden tension in Clint's body, Natasha guessed it was Ainsley. Taking a brief moment to compose herself, Natasha pasted on a neutral smile and turned. Ainsley was holding two covered plates. "It's t' take with ye in case ye get hungry on yer journey t' th' village."

Natasha took the plates and smiled to let Ainsley know they bore no animosity toward her or the McKennas. "Please thank your family for us."

"I will." The girl looked as if she had more to say, but she just looked down at the ground until Clint lifted her head with a finger under her chin.

"It'll be okay, kiddo. Promise."

Again, Ainsley opened and closed her mouth then nodded. She started back toward the house, abruptly returning and motioning for Clint to bend down. When he did, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, pressed something into his hand and was gone.

He looked down at the parchment, unrolling it so Natasha could see. Ainsley had given Clint a drawing. She'd done it during the night. In it, Clint wore what Natasha secretly thought of as his Robin Hood look, made even more evident by the bow with an arrow nocked and ready to fire. Natasha had been drawn in a red tunic and black pants, her left hand holding a knife with the right hand up guarding her face. Between them, as if it were a family portrait, Ainsley had drawn herself in a similar outfit in purple, also holding a bow and arrow. All three had the same "don't mess with me" expressions, softened with a twinkle of humor in the eyes.

Clint stared at it for a long time then suddenly rolled it into a tube again and together, Natasha and he went to the wagon. She set the plates in the back and climbed up next to him. Without a word, he flicked the reins, setting the wagon in motion. They didn't look back.

~~O~~

Watching through the window until the wagon was out of sight, Ainsley wished there had been another way. That Clint and Natasha could've stayed so the lot of them could be one family. She had no doubt that her mother and father would welcome them into their lives forever if she asked them to. Now that she was remembering more and more of the time before and how much they had loved each other, she wanted them to stay. To be where she could see them every day, but she also understood needing to return home. Never would she want to stand in the way of Clint getting the treatment necessary to make him well again.

Brendan rode up to the barn, dismounted his horse and went about hooking up the plow to the ox with speed and efficiency. Now that they were on their own again and her parents and sister were still feeling somewhat poorly, someone had to help with the work.

Using a thin strip of leather to tie her hair back, Ainsley called out, "Mum, Da! Brendan's here 'n I'm off t' tend th' animals 'n th' garden!"

As she reached the door, Mum came to her, brushing the shorter hairs off if Ainsley's forehead. "Yer such a good child. We couldnae ask for better."

Not knowing what to say, Ainsley hugged her mother, blew a kiss to her father and slammed the door on the way out.

Going first to the barn, she turned the horses, cows, sheep and goats out into the paddock then filled their feed baskets and water troughs. While spreading the chicken feed over the ground, the barn cat and her kittens came to watch. The mother rubbed herself around Ainsley's ankles, crying plaintively until the girl picked her up. Ainsley buried her face in the cat's short tiger striped fur, listening to her purr. "Ye'll be glad t' know where th' name Rosie come from, love. It's from m' other life. And th' wee bebe's names as well."

She put the cat down, following her and the kittens into the barn where they supervised the work of mucking out the stalls and filling the feed bags. When that was done, Rosie and her children went to play in the yard, the kittens chasing bugs, field mice, and each other. Every so often, Ainsley would stop the weeding of the garden to stare off into space then go back to work.

~~O~~

Clint pulled the wagon to a stop in back of the inn by the barn, unhooked the horses, groomed and fed them then sent them off to run around in the paddock. Natasha had gone inside and with this one chore done, he had no reason not to join her. His one concern was being waylaid by Griselda. Natasha had probably already talked to her about what went on at the McKenna farm, but just how much, he didn't know. If he had to guess, not much, and certainly not that Ainsley was their child. She'd probably made something up about the family relapsing from their illness. It didn't much matter what Griselda tried to worm out of him, he couldn't hear her anyway.

Inside, Tavish was the one who insisted on answers. Pretending he didn't know what the man was saying, Clint went to the room, changed his clothes, gave Natasha a kiss while she sorted out her medicine bag, and went back downstairs to the kitchen. "Whatever yer makin', Griselda, is surely sent from heaven above."

She laughed and slapped him on the arm, giving him a sad face when he told her that he'd lost his hearing, maybe for good. Taking him by the arm, she led him to the kitchen and set him to chopping vegetables for the stew.

Aileen and Dolina, apparently having been warned that he might strike out accidentally, would toss a towel at him to get his attention before approaching. It was sorta nice not having to listen to the endless chatter of the three women, but he also missed engaging in teasing banter with them.

Sometime later, Clint jumped when Griselda snapped him on the backside with a towel. He shook a finger at her, adding a wink on the end. She took his hand, slapped a wet towel into it and gestured to the dining room. Her meaning was clear: time to bus the tables and get set up for the next wave of diners.

Giving her a mocking salute, he went to do as she asked. He carried huge stacks of dishes, silverware, tankards and mugs into the kitchen then returned to wipe down the tables. Grabbing the broom, he moved all the chairs so he could sweep under the tables and was just finishing when someone clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. Without his hearing, the rest of Clint's senses were heightened. His instincts kicked into high gear and in under three seconds, Crom Gilroy was face down on the floor, one arm twisted behind his back, Clint on one knee beside him.

Clint released Gilroy when Tavish grabbed his shoulder. "Sorry. You oaky, Gilroy?"

Gilroy, glared at him while rubbing his shoulder. He spoke, but Clint couldn't read his lips he was talking so fast. Tavish saw, grabbed Cullen who nodded and ran out the door.

~~O~~

From his table in the corner, Tavish saw trouble brewing the moment Gilroy entered the room. He made straight for Clint sweeping the floor over by the stairs that led to the rooms. Before he could stop his friend, Gilroy grabbed Clint's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. The next few seconds happened so quickly that Tavish wasn't certain that he'd seen what he thought he'd seen. Clint moved in the way that warriors did, taking Gilroy to the floor with little effort.

"Clint! Let th' man go! Och! I forgot." He turned to Cullen. "Go fetch Natasha. She's gone t' Del's."

Without acknowledging, Cullen rushed out, coming back a few minutes later with Natasha, Cullen carrying her bags. She stepped between Clint and Gilroy, the two men glaring at each other in some macho version of a staring contest. As always, Tavish was fascinated by the way Natasha and Clint conversed by making shapes with their hands. From the looks on their faces and how fast they were moving their hands, they were having a bit of a kerfuffle.

Natasha touched Clint's arm and he nodded. Turning to Gilroy, she said, "Clint's sorry he hurt ye, Crom."

The other man, more clean and neatly groomed than usual, surprised Tavish by extending his hand. "It wasnae yer fault. I were warned about yer…" he waved to indicate Clint's ears. "I wanted t' thank ye both fer what ye done. Clint fer keepin' me from gettin' m' head bashed in at th' caber toss. And ye, Miss, fer th' tendin' while I were ailin'."

While Gilroy spoke, Natasha translated for Clint. The stiffness went out of Clint's shoulders and he accepted the gratitude. Gilroy nodded once more and then took a seat at Tavish's table. Griselda set a tankard of ale in front of him and bustled off to the kitchen again.

~~O~~

The last of the diners and drinkers had left the inn, and Clint, dead tired, his head and ears pounding, flopped into a chair. Natasha had stayed to keep an eye on him, presumably until all the regulars at least had been clued into his condition. She'd spent much of the time serving drinks and food allowing Griselda to stay in with the girls cooking.

Signing, he told Natasha, "Griselda's going on and on about all the food we'll be making for the Queen's birthday bash. We have to tell them we're not gonna be here."

Her smile was tired and sad at the same time. Raising her voice, she called out, "Griselda! Tavish!"

The older couple rushed into the dining room, Griselda from the kitchen and Tavish from the direction of the garderobe. "Aye, love," Griselda spoke for both of them.

"Please sit down. We have something t' tell ye." Sitting across from the agents, Griselda gave her husband a questioning glance, but he just shook his head. Taking Natasha's hand, Clint took comfort from her while giving it at the same time. They had both become fond of this village and the people in it. It would be hard to leave knowing that they'd all be dead before Natasha and he exited the portal in the twenty-first century, including their daughter. Reaching across, Natasha laid her hand over Tavish and Griselda's clasped together. "We're very grateful fer all ye done for us these months. And while we'd love t' make Laomainn our home, we must continue th' search for our Annabelle. We'll be leavin' Laomainn this time next week."

**TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/ Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/ Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Aileen, works for Griselda

Dolina, works for Griselda

Crom Gilroy, Tavish's friend

Danny, teenage boy, Natasha's apprentice

Director Nick Fury, SHIELD

Dr. Erik Selvig, astrophysicist with SHIELD

Linda, astrophysicist, SHIELD

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 22**

Through her tears, Griselda said, "Of course ye must continue th' search. Just know that ye will be missed."

Tavish nodded in agreement with his wife. "Aye. Ye've made this ol' inn feel lively 'n robust wi' yer presence."

"Natasha, love, what about th' healin' 'n such ye been doin'?"

Natasha had been signing so Clint could keep up with the conversation. He turned his head back and forth to at least give the appearance of listening. She gave Griselda a confident smile. "Young Danny Stewart has been apprenticin'. He's a fast learner, th' boy is. He'll do right by th' village. Though I'd be beholdin' if ye'd let me tell him m'self."

"Oh, aye, love." Griselda pushed away from the table and got to her feet. "Well, there be a bit o' cleanin' left t' do."

Clint started when Natasha gave him a poke and he belatedly got up. "I'll help." He followed the older woman into the kitchen leaving Natasha and Tavish alone.

"Natasha, ye 'n Clint will always be welcome in Laomainn. When yer family is whole again, please consider makin' this yer home."

Taking Tavish's hand, Natasha smiled with genuine affection. "There's no place we'd rather call home than here, Tavish." She started to leave, but something in the innkeeper's eyes kept her in place. "Somethin' on yer mind?"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Tavish pointed a finger at her. "Ye read faces th' way a priest reads the Good Book. After seein' th' way Clint handled Crom, well, th' truth of it is that th' lads 'n me, we'd be obliged if Clint could teach us his way o' fightin'."

Relieved and keeping it to herself, Natasha smiled wryly. "I dinnae think it's a good idea. Clint's hearin' is beginnin' t' return. Any further injuries could cause lasting damage."

Tavish was quiet for a long time then he patted her hand and headed off in the direction of the apartment he shared with Griselda. By her internal clock, Natasha guessed the time as well after midnight. If she didn't get to sleep soon, she'd be cranky in the morning while watching the kids. Climbing the stairs, she thought about waiting up for Clint, but didn't think she'd be able to last that long. Stopping in the garderobe, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. In the room, she changed into her sleepwear and crawled under the covers. When Clint came in an hour later, she didn't move so much as a finger when he spooned her from behind.

**Several Days Later**

After returning the children to their homes, Natasha headed back to the inn to change for the ride out to check on baby David, Torey and Andrew's newborn. She'd given up all pretense of blending in and dressed to please herself, within the parameters of the era, of course. There was no way on Earth she would stroll through the streets of Laomainn in the midnight black bikini she wore on the Lima mission. Then, she rolled her eyes even though Clint was nowhere near her.

As her back-up, he'd played the part of a bored tourist while she cozied up to the mark. Then, Clint threatened to use the photos he'd taken of her working to create his Sexy Women of SHIELD calendar. Coming out of the water, applying sunscreen, putting on and taking off her beach cover-up, sipping fruity umbrella drinks. Every move she made had been to attract the attention of the mark. Rich, powerful, semi-attractive and enough arrogance to fill Wrigley Stadium and then some. All he had to do to get women to fall all over him was smile and nod. Dropping names like De Niro, Pacino, Perry, Castle and Romo didn't hurt either. That's why it had irked him when Natasha ignored him or rejected his advances consistently over the course of a week. But he'd finally won her over, and now he was sitting pretty in a prison that didn't officially exist, bagel and schmeer replacing the expensive breakfast he had flown in every Sunday morning.

Coming downstairs, Natasha stopped at the kitchen to see Clint. Dolina was taking the pieces of chicken from him as he skinned and deboned them. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. He quickly washed his hands and came to give her a kiss. She drew his attention to Aileen, Dolina and Griselda watching and smiling dreamily. Signing "I love you", she started to go. Clint snagged her hand, twirled her into his arms, and dipped her low, giving her one of the hottest kisses she'd ever received from a man. It was the sort of kiss against which the average woman would compare all other kisses for the rest of her life. He released her slowly, as if reluctant to let her go then swatted her playfully on the backside, winking when she glared at him.

Shaking her head and laughing, Natasha picked up her bags, and left by the side door. Tavish had already saddled one of the horses for her. He gave her a leg-up, though she didn't need it, and waved as she rode out of sight.

~~O~~

Clint watched Natasha leave with a smirk, certain that tonight he would pay a hefty price for his audacity. _Totally worth it!_

He turned around and was confronted by three women staring slack-jawed at him. With a wink and a cheeky grin, arms out to the side as if to say "what did you expect?" he went back to work. In the weeks he'd been helping out in the kitchen, Clint had been teaching the girls and Griselda how to sign. They'd learned enough to be able to get their point across. They still threw things at him to get his attention, especially after the most recent incident with Gilroy. Clint asked around, trying to get a handle on why the man was such a troublemaker and found that Gilroy had once been married. His wife had died giving birth and the child a few days later. The poor man had been devastated and Clint could honestly say that he understood. Everyone copes with tragedy in their own way. Drinking and picking fights just happened to be Gilroy's coping mechanism. _Maybe I __did__ learn something from Hoffman after all._

Clint had also seen the way Gilroy looked at Dolina when she served him. If he had to guess, Clint would say that Gilroy was smitten with the girl, but thought himself unworthy. And Dolina seemed to feel the same, but both were caught up in the culture and mores of their society. It was the same for Clint and Natasha in the twenty-first century. They just played by different rules. In this era, women often married men much older than they, and that gave him an idea. The next time Griselda came near he asked, "How long ago did Gilroy's wife 'n child pass on?"

Griselda thought hard for a moment then held up both hands, all fingers extended. "He hasnae family. His mum 'n da were felled by a sickness, as were his brothers 'n sisters."

"Ten years?" She nodded. "That would make him about thirty?" Again she nodded. Clint chanced a glance over his shoulder, leaning close enough that they wouldn't be overheard. "And Dolina?"

Griselda's smile told Clint she knew why he was asking. She rearranged the chopped vegetables to form the number sixteen.

Holding the knife in one hand and a potato in the other, he pursed his lips. "So fourteen years difference. Not too bad." Grinning, he said, "Wanna play matchmaker?"

Taking a few moments to puzzle out Clint's meaning, Griselda nodded decisively. They shook hands and went back to work.

As he chopped the vegetables, he concentrated and was able to hear some sounds. Aileen dropping a plate, Griselda calling out for Tavish, the rattle of wooden wheels over the cobblestones, and perhaps even the sounds of children playing, but he couldn't be sure. He wanted to be outside entertaining the kids, but Natasha advised him not to or risk permanent impairment. He hadn't told Natasha that he could distinguish some sounds through the bells in his head because he didn't want to get her hopes up only to be let down if it turned out to be temporary. It was wrong, keeping it from her, and if it made her angry, he'd deal with the consequences.

Aileen came up beside him to gather up the vegetable he'd already done. He tried humming a few bars of a song he liked even though it made him sad. Aileen started away then came back, standing there listening. Then, softly, he began to sing.

_Spend all your time waiting for that second chance__  
__For the break that will make it okay__  
__There's always some reason to feel not good enough__  
__And it's hard at the end of the day__  
__I need some distraction oh beautiful release__  
__Memories seep from my veins__  
__Let me be empty and weightless and maybe__  
__I'll find some peace tonight__._

_In the arms of the angels fly away from here__  
__From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear__  
__You were pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie__  
__You're in the arms of the angels; may you find some comfort here__._

The vibrations made his ears ache so he stopped. Dolina looked startled then pointed. When he turned around, Griselda was weeping into a towel. _Oh, crap! I did it again! _ Going to the older woman's side, he lifted a hand to pat her on the back, thought better of it and turned to go.

Griselda grabbed his hand as he passed. "Dinnae go. It's just that th' words remind me of m' blessed Margaret. She were a beautiful child. Much like yer Natasha, but more tallish." She noticed the girls' sad expressions, flashing them an apologetic smile. "Goan, lassies. People'll be wantin' their supper on time tonight."

That evening, Clint and Griselda put their matchmaking plan into place, sending Dolina out to serve Gilroy. Griselda carried a second plate out and told the girl in no uncertain terms that she wasn't to return to the kitchen for the remainder of the night. An hour later, Dolina and Gilroy were having an engaging conversation, the girl finally getting over her reserve around the older man.

Eventually, Dolina excused herself. "Mum's expectin' me t' help wi' th' young ones in th' mornin' so I best be gettin' home."

Gilroy stood when she did, Clint sagging in defeat when Gilroy just watched her walk away. Griselda shared in Clint's annoyance with the man. He threw the towel into the sink and stomped over to Gilroy's table, leaning close so he wouldn't be heard. "I've seen how ye look at th' lass, Gilroy, 'n if ye dinnae go 'n walk her home, I'll thrash ye within an inch o' yer life."

His eyes flitting from Clint to Griselda then the door, Gilroy came to a decision. Drawing himself up straight with his shoulders back, he rushed out the door calling out, "Dolina! Dolina, wait!"

Natasha came in just then, crossing the room to stand in front of Clint, suspicion in her eyes as she signed, "What did you do?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You had that same look on your face when you tried to set Steve up with the waitress from the café."

Spreading his hands out to the side, he huffed. "How was I supposed to know she was married?"

Holding up her left hand and wiggling the fingers, Natasha deadpanned, "The wedding ring should've been a clue. So I ask again, _what_ did you _do?_"

Shrugging modestly, Clint said, "Just gave Gilroy somewhere new to focus his energy."

"Thought you'd settled your differences."

"We did. Sort of." Clint waggled his hand. "I think he's just lonely."

Natasha's stern expression morphed into affection. Ignoring the looks from the people around them, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, avoiding his grasp when he reached for her. "My hero."

**A Few Days Later**

Finally, the day for taking their leave had come for Natasha and Clint. If all went as it should, by this time tomorrow they would be home, their reason for traveling back in time having decided to stay. That morning, Natasha had to force herself to stay away from the market where she knew Ainsley and her family would be because she didn't think she could bear seeing her again knowing she would be dead by the time they stepped out the other side of the portal.

Danny came around and Natasha turned over the herbs, roots, berries and flowers she'd collected in the last few weeks. He listened carefully as she gave him last minute instructions, and as he was leaving, he impulsively hugged her then snatched up the bags and hurried away.

The dining room filled up early and stayed that way for most of the day as those who had been felled by the recent sickness came to thank Natasha and wish the couple well on their journey. Noticeably absent were the McKennas, though probably for the same reason Natasha had avoided the square for the last week. Leave had already been taken between Ainsley and her birth parents. Anything more would've just made it harder for everyone. And Natasha wanted this parting to go as smoothly as possible.

Griselda, Aileen and Dolina said a tearful farewell, the girls blushing when Clint kissed the backs of their hands. With Griselda, he drew her into a hug and planted a small kiss on her cheek.

Tavish gave Clint a manly back-slapping hug then was surprised when Natasha wrapped her arms as far around his broad shoulders as she could and squeezed.

As they rode away from the inn, Natasha glanced over her shoulder to see their friends waving, not surprised when Gilroy slipped his arm around Dolina and the girl looked up at him with affection.

Though Clint protested, Tavish had insisted on giving them the wagon and horses so they wouldn't have to continue their journey on foot. As before, the plan was to hitch the horses to the wagon and set them loose just before stepping into the portal so they'd find their way home, leaving behind the story of the strangers who mysteriously disappeared and were never seen or heard from again.

Arriving at the rendezvous point, Clint and Natasha set up the tent then he dug a fire pit while Natasha collected fire wood. They didn't need to speak, and that was alright with Natasha. She didn't feel like talking.

Night time came around and by mutual unspoken agreement they put out the fire and crawled into the tent. Clint pressed himself against her back, and just when she thought he'd gone to sleep, he brushed the hair out of the way to nibble on her earlobe. It made her want to giggle, which may have been his intent. A theory proven when he scraped his teeth over the sensitive area at the junction of her neck and shoulder while the hand on her stomach went in search of its own prey. The moment his hand reached its goal, Natasha rolled until they were face to face, her right hand pushing on his shoulder until he lay on his back with her astride him. And before long, they were both caught up in a whirlpool of sensation.

**Mid-Morning the Next Day**

As she'd done every day since the last time she saw Clint and Natasha, Ainsley tended to the animals then went into the barn to muck out the stalls before working in the garden. The only thing different about today was that she couldn't keep her mind on her work. The little voice inside her head kept reminding her that her birth parents would be returning home today…alone. They had traveled unimaginable distances to find her and bring her home, and she'd thrown it all back in their faces.

Until last night, she'd been absolutely certain she'd made the right decision to stay in this time. But something Clint had said wouldn't stop speaking to her, telling her that it was her duty as their only child to help carry on the family line. But that was only one part of it. Now that she remembered her life before becoming a part of the McKenna family, she also remembered the love she had for her parents, both sets. In her mind, the decision to stay meant that Clint and Natasha would end up dying alone without children or grandchildren to make their lives worth living. There would be no one to carry on their legacy. Edeen and Gavin had taught her the value of family, honor, and integrity. Most of all, they taught her to be loving and compassionate. She loved _both_ her families, and nothing would ever change that. But now she knew her place was _not_ with the McKennas. It was with Clint and Natasha.

The mother cat twined herself around Ainsley's legs, sensing her distress, crying and pawing at the hem of her dress. Ainsley picked her up for one last cuddle, burying her face in the warm fur. Then, she put the cat down, rubbed a hand over the backs of each of the kittens, took a deep breath and headed for the house. It would break their hearts-and hers, but she now knew that leaving was the right thing to do.

~~O~~

Clint watched as Natasha came out of the water, naked as the day she was born, and marveled that this beautiful woman loved him. Unashamed, she stood on the shore, tilted her head back and raised both arms up, spreading her fingers apart. She thrust her hands into her hair near the temples then pushed them toward the back of her head causing her elbows to move out and away from her body. Her long hair was lifted up and back to fall behind her shoulders, her hazel eyes finding Clint's. The move had been so nonchalant and artless yet seductive at the same time that Clint found it hard to believe she hadn't done it on purpose just to arouse him.

Turning her back on him while she dried off seemed to be an invitation to engage in a short, sweet version of their nighttime activities. He obliged her, and when they were done, he helped her dress, taking a very long time to lace up the front of her bodice. He purposely let his fingers stray into territory that had been explored in great detail in the last twenty-four hours. Their lips were about to touch again when Natasha jerked back, her eyes going to the wagon.

Still unable to hear more than a few sounds, Clint asked, "What?"

Natasha stepped out of his arms and ran to the wagon, pulling out the DNA sequencer and shutting off the alarm. It was almost time. Gathering their belongings together, Clint held Natasha's hand while they waited for the portal to open.

Unlike the previous time, the vortex the portal created wasn't nearly as dynamic. The wind still flattened the grass and flowers, but no trees were uprooted. After a few moments, the force lessened to the speed of a gusty day at the beach.

Natasha touched her left ear indicating that the receiver was working. They had no way to respond, so when it was time to go, she merely nodded and they walked into the portal, stopping at the threshold for one last look around before stepping inside, arriving in the same lab they'd departed from almost three months ago. It hadn't changed in that time, but Clint knew he had as had Natasha. That happened when you lost a child.

Director Fury came to greet them, Selvig at his side. "Welcome home."

"Thank you, sir," Natasha answered for both of them, looking up at Clint.

Fury looked past them. "You're alone?"

Just barely able to hear the conversation, Clint nodded. "Yes, sir. We found her, but…"

"Dr. Selvig, we're receiving audio," Linda informed the physicists urgently. Selvig went to her side, Fury following. "It's very faint."

"Increase the volume."

Linda exhaled loudly. "We're at maximum now."

Peering over Linda's shoulder, Fury ordered, "Pipe it to the speakers."

Clint squinted, turning his head to the side trying to make out what the others were saying. "What's going on?"

But Natasha wasn't listening to Clint. She was standing near one of the speakers, her head close. Signing, she said, "It's a voice. Dr. Selvig, can you clear out some of the ambient noise?"

Before Selvig gave the order, Linda was already applying noise filters to the sounds, and what Natasha heard made her eyes go very wide, almost panicked scaring Clint because Natasha _never_ panicked. She clutched at his arm. "Ainsley! She's saying, 'Wait for me!' Clint, we have to…"

Clint didn't give Natasha time to finish. Dropping everything, he turned and dove into the portal once again, disappearing from sight just as it sputtered and flashed, threatening to shut down.

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

I know this is early. One of my readers demanded...er, requested the next chapter. Here you go.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Dominic Trask

Natasha Romanoff/Natalie Trask

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff/Morgan Trask

Director Nick Fury, SHIELD

Dr. Erik Selvig, astrophysicist, SHIELD

Linda, astrophysicist, SHIELD

Unnamed scientist, SHIELD

Agent Davis, pilot, SHIELD

Dr. Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Dr. Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 23**

Natasha started to go after Clint, stopped by Fury's strong grip. She struggled, but couldn't get free. "No!"

The event horizon began fluctuating and sputtering. The team worked frantically, Selvig shouting, "Keep going! Don't let it shut down!"

Linda huffed at him while pounding away at her computer. "I'm trying! The system can't handle that much power. If we don't shut it down, we'll knock out the grid again."

Fury released Natasha and went to stand in front of the scientists. "If that's what it takes, do it!"

One of the other scientists called out, "Sensors read two people in the wormhole. Just keep it active a few more seconds!"

The humming changed to a whine, rising to an unbearable pitch making everyone wince as the sound shot through their heads. Natasha clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain managing not to cry out.

An explosion sent shards of metal and plastic in all directions. Everyone threw themselves down to the floor and the light from the event horizon grew to encompass the entire room, moving beyond the walls. A second explosion took out the rest of the equipment, plunging the room into darkness.

Natasha lay in the fetal position for another few seconds then slowly lifted her head and looked around. Moans of pain and low voices swearing in several languages reached her through the darkness, but the room was so dark she couldn't see a thing.

The emergency lights came on, illuminating enough of the room that shapes could be seen. Getting to her hands and knees, Natasha crawled toward a huddled form lying not far from the now dormant portal. In the dim light, Clint didn't appear to be breathing. She reached out to touch his shoulder. "Clint?"

~~O~~

Like his previous trip through the portal, Clint was forcibly ejected from the wormhole, but this time he was ready. He rolled to absorb the impact, narrowly missing Ainsley. She ran to his side, speaking loudly so he'd be able to hear. "Are ya okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Getting to his feet, he grabbed her hand. "We gotta jet, kiddo."

As they approached the portal, Ainsley sudden seemed unsure, looking at the swirling forces with foreboding and digging her heels in. "I-I cannae do it."

"Yes, you can!" He tugged, but she was rooted to the spot, fear making her eyes go very wide and her breathing speed up. There wasn't time to baby her. They had to go now! Scooping her into his arms, he ran toward the portal. As they got close, Ainsley buried her face in his chest, her arms around his neck so tight he could barely breathe. "Hold on!"

The event horizon sputtered and sparked as Clint leaped into the portal and a moment later it closed. On the other side, they were spit out just as the systems shut down and the room went dark and Clint was knocked unconscious.

~~O~~

The swirling mass floating just a few inches above the ground frightened Ainsley more than when she'd thought her family was dying from the sickness. She wanted to go into it and join her mother and father in the future but she couldn't make herself take those last few steps.

By God's grace she didn't have to. Clint shot out of the tunnel, rolling across the ground to lie in a moaning heap just for a moment. Then, when she couldn't get her feet to move even with him holding her hand, he picked her up and she clutched him tight, closing her eyes and trying not to scream.

A moment later they were flying through the air. A strange sound echoed through her head, a combination of roaring, humming and whooshing. They jolted to a stop in a darkened room filled with strange people and things sitting everywhere.

She tried to get up, but Clint had been knocked out, his bulk too great for her to move. Relief flooded through her veins when she heard Natasha's voice very close.

"Clint?"

"Natasha! I'm here." Her father's weight was rolled off of her and she scrambled to her knees, tossing aside her bow and quiver, a hand touching his face. Natasha was already tending to a bloody area on his head. As she'd seen Natasha do, Ainsley ran her hands over Clint arms and legs looking for broken bones, finding none.

"I need t' stop th' bleedin'." Out of the inky blackness around them, a disembodied hand held a handful of what looked like white parchment. Folding the sheets, she pressed them over Clint's wound. Someone else produced a white box that had a red cross on the front. Inside were all manner of bits and pieces that Natasha could use for tending minor injuries.

While she did that, Ainsley patted Clint's cheek. "Please, wake up." Clint moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at her and then they were hugging. "Pápochka!"

"Rosie!" Clint's arms held her close. "We made it!"

"Aye. We did, but ye've been hurt."

Touching his forehead to hers, he said, "It's nothing, sweetheart."

Natasha lifted the parchment covering Clint's wound and, apparently satisfied, set them aside. The three of them huddled together on the floor, holding onto each other. Finally, Ainsley leaned back so she could look into her father's face. "Och! I thought we would die fer goin' into that gammy thing."

Clint chuckled, one hand smoothing the hair out of her face. "Me too!"

They looked up at the sound of someone clearing their throat to see the man she know knew as Uncle Nick standing over them. "Care to introduce us, Agent Barton?"

Ainsley and Natasha helped Clint to stand, and the girl watched as the bearings of the two people she'd come to know over the last few weeks changed. Their spines straightened and their hands were clasped behind their backs in the way she'd heard that warriors did to show respect to their leaders. Ainsley stood between Clint and Natasha following their lead.

"Director Fury, this be our daughter, Ainsley."

"Your daughter's name is Annabelle, and this young lady is _not_ six years old."

Taking issue with what she perceived as a rebuke from the man she now knew as Uncle Nick, Ainsley took an angry step forward, looking up to keep eye contact. "I _am_ she, 'n soon t' be twelve."

Her parents relaxed their postures, Natasha speaking for them. "She's goin' by th' name Ainsley, director. We'll be glad t' answer all yer questions later. Right now, we'd just like t' find a place t' relax."

Fury crossed his arms, his one good eye flitting from one to the other then nodded. "Of course. It shouldn't take long for power to be restored. This time it was only the compound and not the entire tri-state area."

"Thank ya, sir."

Natasha picked up the bags they brought with them, handed one to Clint then put her arm around Ainsley's shoulders to lead her away. As they passed Fury, the girl broke free. Indicating Clint and Natasha, she crossed her arms and glared at the SHIELD director. "Mum 'n Da told me ye were a friend, but yer takin' 'em t' task fer somethin' what isnae their fault 'n I'll not stand fer it!" To Ainsley's surprise, Fury threw his head back and laughed prompting her to glare harder. "What's sae funny?"

Ainsley felt the presence of her parents at her back, silently supportive. Shaking his head, Fury pinned her with an intense gaze that made Ainsley want to squirm. She lifted her chin stubbornly, refusing to be cowed.

"That was _ironic_ laughter, child."

"I dinnae understand." Ainsley's anger turned to irritation when everyone, including her parents, laughed.

Fury came forward and very gently, touched her on the shoulder. "You are, without a doubt, Clint and Natasha's daughter."

Still confused, Ainsley gaped at him a moment then said, "That's what I _told_ ya, but ye dinnae listen!"

For some reason, that statement engendered even more laughter. Clint pulled her close with an arm around her neck, kissing the top of her head. "Come on, Rosie. We'll explain later."

Natasha held her hand almost too tight, as if she thought Ainsley might vanish without the touch. "We just want t' go home."

The Barton-Romanoff family headed for the exit, one of the guards handing Clint a black thing that looked like a club. He touched the side and light brightened the darkness to show the way. Footsteps behind them signaled Fury was following. "First stop is the medical bay."

"Aye."

Again Fury chuckled, his voice echoing slightly in the stairwell. "Agent Romanoff, you're no longer in medieval Scotland."

"Of course, director." Tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention, Natasha raised her voice so Clint could hear. "Clint! Accent!"

"What?!" Natasha huffed and Ainsley barely kept from laughing. The lights came back on, Clint flicked off the hand light, all of them blinking in the bright light. To Natasha, Clint said, "What did ye say?"

Signing, Natasha responded with a wry grin. "Drop the accent!"

"Och! I mean, yeah. Okay."

Now Ainsley really wanted to laugh because Clint was again speaking in the way he had while they'd been in the tree. She had known then that it was his usual way of speaking, though it sounded odd to her ears after all this time. It might take some time to get used to it, but at least they were together.

Clint opened a door, holding it for the others. All the strange sights had Ainsley staring open-mouthed. She decided to leave most of the questions for later as she rushed to catch up to her father and take his hand. "What's this place then?"

Fury supplied the answer. "It's our company's base of operations. The underground floors are research and development while those above ground contain training and employee facilities."

"Sir, I don't think she understands what you're saying," Natasha told him while signing to Clint.

Annoyed at Natasha's presumption, Ainsley proved her wrong by responding with, "Below is where ye use yer skills 'n knowledge t' make new…" she gestured at the high tech equipment in evidence everywhere. "'N upstairs is where ye do th' schoolin', eatin' 'n play fightin'."

Grinning, Fury nodded. "I _knew_ you were a smart girl."

Over her shoulder, Ainsley snapped, "That I _am_, like m' mum 'n da. Ye'd do well t' recall it henceforth."

~~O~~

Keeping her features bland and doing her best not to smile, Natasha thought that very few people could speak to the director of SHIELD like that and get away with it. But then Fury always had a soft spot for their daughter.

Fury came up beside Natasha nodding at Clint. "Is there something you'd like to share, Agent Romanoff?"

"Sir? Oh, the signing. There was a series of minor accidents that caused Agent Barton to become hearing impaired. Hopefully, it's only temporary. The details will be in our mission reports."

"He does realize that he'll be confined to a desk until the situation is corrected."

She nodded and looked away. "We haven't talked about it, but I'm sure he knows. Where's Coulson?"

A small smile played over her lips and Fury knew that she was thinking of Coulson's reaction when introduced to Ainsley. Like himself, Coulson was expecting a small child, not a young woman. "On assignment. Should wrap up by the end of the week."

"Good. I'll talk to Clint and see when he'd like to have everyone over to meet Ainsley."

Entering the medical bay, the SHIELD doctors rushed to perform the tests necessary to assure that Ainsley and her parents were in good health. Though she didn't like it, Ainsley had blood taken and received several vaccinations to keep her from getting sick.

The otolaryngologist insisted on testing Clint's hearing and gave him a pair of temporary hearing aids until they could determine if surgery would be needed. It took the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon then the family was on its way home at last.

They got into the elevator just as several junior agents were coming out, all of them staring at the strange clothing Clint, Natasha and Ainsley were wearing. Clint glared back, but didn't say anything. Most of them hadn't formally met the senior agent, but Clint's reputation was well known among most covert agencies, and some that weren't so covert.

When they reached the roof, Clint led the way, Ainsley sticking close to his side. Natasha kept touching the girl on the shoulder as if she needed tactile confirmation that her daughter really was here. The girl looked at everything with such curiosity that Fury was glad he'd be a part of her life, sharing in her delight of everything she was experiencing for the first time…or again.

~~O~~

Stepping out into the sunshine, the wind whipping at their clothes, Natasha heard Ainsley gasp. "What's _that?_"

She was pointing at the air ship idling on the helipad. "It's called a quinjet."

"What's it do?"

"It flies."

Her lips made a silent "Oh" as they went on board. "How does it fly?"

Natasha chuckled. "You'd have to ask Clint. He's the pilot in the family."

A light bulb went on over the girl's head, her expression brightening. "Could he teach _me?_"

Not wanting to burst her bubble so soon in their acquaintance, Natasha again brushed a hand down Ainsley's long red hair. "Let's talk about it after you get acclimated to this century."

Fury had escorted them to the roof then took his leave when he received a call. He waved from the doorway and disappeared back inside.

For once, Clint didn't insist on piloting. He could be stubborn, but he also knew when he wasn't up to the task. Clint sat on the port bench seat, Natasha taking the other end and Ainsley sitting between them firing one question after another at the woman in the pilot's seat. With the patience of a saint, she answered each one as simply as possible until Clint put a stop to it. "Once we're in the air, you can ask more questions. But for now, she needs to concentrate."

"How long 'till we reach home?"

"Flying time is less than an hour, then there's the drive to the apartment. Couple of hours tops."

Natasha had to give Clint credit for the way he handled their daughter. But then, she had always been a daddy's girl, and it looks like she was again. She was also fiercely protective of him, as illustrated by the fact that she had come to his "rescue" during their sparring session by the loch.

Over her shoulder, the pilot said, "Okay to move around now."

"Thanks, Agent Davis." A soft snore came from Clint, echoed a moment later by Ainsley. His arm was around her and she had fallen asleep leaning against his side, holding his hand. Her free hand lay limply in her lap, and Natasha gently took it in hers. Scooting closer, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes, only to be shaken awake by Davis an unknown amount of time later.

"Agent Romanoff? We're here."

"Here?"

The woman smiled showing even white teeth. "Yes, ma'am. The SHIELD airstrip in Manhattan. There's a car waiting to take you home."

Nodding her thanks, Natasha grabbed Clint's shoulder, nudging him awake. He blinked at their surroundings, yawned and rubbed his eyes while Natasha shook Ainsley. "Wake up, _malyshka_."

The girl yawned, rubbed her eyes then stood up to do a stretch that involved every muscle in her body. Clint had always called them her cat stretches. Having seen the hatch open and close previously, it didn't engender as much curiosity from the girl this time.

Natasha whispered instructions to her daughter who ran back to the pilot. "Thank ye fer yer kindness, Miss."

Davis smiled gently. "Happy to do it, honey."

Holding out her hand, Natasha was reassured and comforted when Ainsley took it. More awake now, the girl again stared at everything. Not that there was much to see at the small airport. Clint opened the back door of the limousine idling near the hangar and tossed in their bags. He motioned for Ainsley and Natasha to get in first then he climbed in behind them. He buckled his seatbelt and promptly fell asleep again.

Natasha helped Ainsley with her seatbelt then put on her own. There was so much more for her to see that Ainsley stared out the window as they drove through the city. Watching Ainsley kept Natasha from falling asleep even when Clint snored. She tried poking him in the side. The noise stopped for a few seconds then started again, so she chose to ignore it. The traffic made for slow going travel-wise, but it gave the girl time to focus on individual items of interest rather than assaulting her with sights, sounds and scents that would overwhelm her senses.

Recognizing the final turn to Clint's apartment, Natasha woke him up. He yawned and rubbed his eyes again, smiling when his eyes fell on Ainsley staring out the window.

~~O~~

"We're here, Rosie." Clint couldn't help the breathless whisper in his voice when he spoke to his daughter. For more than three long years, he and Natasha had prayed that Annabelle would come back to them, and here she was. He thanked the driver then dug out the keys he'd retrieved from his locker at the compound.

Tilting her head back, Ainsley took in the front of the stone edifice. "Whoa. This be yer _house?_"

Clint placed a hand on Ainsley's upper back, guiding her to the door. "Part of it is. It's sort of like the inn. A lot of people live here." In the lobby, Clint waved to the security guard. "Evening, Bert."

"Welcome back, Mr. B. Ms. R." The gray haired man nodded to Natasha. "You was gone a while this time. How was the trip?"

Smiling, Clint looked down at Ainsley. "Great. Oh, by the way, this young lady will be staying with me until I can find a new place to live. Ainsley, this is Bert."

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Ainsley." The older man smiled with sincere delight, reaching over the desk to shake her hand.

Ainsley looked at Bert then at Clint who nodded. The girl took the offered hand and shook. "As am I, Master Bert."

Bert chuckled, shaking his head as he resumed his seat. "Enjoy your stay." Clint urged Ainsley toward the elevator not hearing Bert ask Natasha, "It ain't none o' my business so pardon me for askin', Ms. R., but who is she?"

With a proud smile, Natasha drew herself up to her full height. "She's our daughter."

The guard did a perfect jaw-drop then said, "Exactly how long were ya gone?"

"Three months. See you later, Bert."

The elevator doors opened and Clint could see Bert's dumfounded expression. "You told him."

"Yeah. Most fun I've had all morning. Well, right after the time travel." They were quiet on the ride to the top floor and the walk to Clint's door.

He opened all three locks and herded the women in ahead. "Welcome home, Rosie."

Ainsley turned in a circle taking everything in, especially the electronic equipment. Like all kids, she loved pushing buttons. The SHIELD vetted housekeeper had been in while he was gone to keep everything dust free. She went to the television and ran a finger over the screen then the front of the DVD player. From the look on her face, she was remembering being here. He yawned and she caught him. Shrugging sheepishly, he gave her a quick tour. "Kitchen. There's no food so we'll have to go out or call for delivery. Workout room and home office-don't go in there, bathroom-that's like a garderobe only better. Bedroom and bedroom. There's a patio too, but it's small."

Standing in the hall, Ainsley seemed uncertain about everything. "Who shares m' room?"

"No one, sweetheart. It's just you."

"I get th' room all t' m'self?" Excited at the prospect, she opened the door that had Annabelle's name on it. While they'd been gone, the stuffed animals Clint ordered had arrived and been placed on the bed and shelves with the toys and books, all age appropriate for a six-year-old. The color scheme was predominantly shades of purple with white and pink mixed in to bring out the dots and stars design. Propped against the pillows and shams were stuffed cats in all colors and sizes. The curtains matched the bedding, and a duvet had been used as a bedspread.

Looking at the room through her eyes, Clint suspected she found it a little childish, but he needn't have worried. She gave a squeal of delight and ran to jump on the bed, grabbing one of the stuffed cats and squeezing it.

"Like it?"

"Aye!" Getting to her knees, she bounced, her hair swirling around her head. She brushed it away, a huge smile making her glow. Sitting onto her bottom, she slid off the bed ran to Clint and threw her arms around him. She pulled away and did the same to Natasha. "It's _beautiful_."

Suddenly releasing Natasha, Ainsley got to her hands and knees, peering under the bed, dresser, and into the closet. She gave the clothing an unenthusiastic glance.

"_M__alyshka_, what are you looking for?"

"My cat."

Clint shook his head. "Don't have one."

Her disappointment was evident then she smiled hopefully. "Can we _get_ a cat then?"

~~O~~

Natasha stifled a snort. "We'll talk about it. What we need is to get cleaned up, changed, and food." Clint cleared his throat and she rolled her eyes. "And a nap."

"I'm nae tired," Ainsley insisted then sniffed herself at the same time Clint did himself, again making Natasha chuckle. "There be too much t' see 'n do in this place. I could do with a bit o' washin' up 'n a meal though. But th' clothes in there willnae fit."

"Clint, do you have something Ainsley can wear until we go shopping?" Natasha raised her voice to be heard. "And me."

Without responding, Clint went into his room. She heard drawers opening and slamming closed again then he came out with two sets of pajama pants, T-shirts and socks. "Ladies first."

As if they'd choreographed it, Natasha kissed Clint on one cheek at the same time Ainsley kissed him on the other. The bathroom door closed behind Ainsley leaving Natasha alone with Clint for the first time since they'd come home. They went into each other's arms easily. No awkward fumbling or embarrassing bumping of noses when they kissed.

"Clint! How do this work?"

Clint and Natasha pulled apart almost guiltily, chuckling at Ainsley's annoyed tone. Natasha rested her head against Clint's chest for a moment then stepped back. "I guess we'll have to get used to being interrupted."

"Yeah." He knocked then entered the bathroom where Ainsley had gone. From the hall, Natasha could hear him giving instructions on how to use the faucets, tub, shower and toilet. While he did that, she went into his room to use the ensuite.

~~O~~

By the time Clint came out from showering and changing, the Chinese food he ordered had arrived. Natasha was teaching Ainsley how to use chopsticks and he was very proud that she picked it up so quickly, though she did make a face at the taste of the Orange Chicken. Apparently it wasn't that bad because she continued to eat while peering into the other containers and helping herself to Mongolian Beef and Shrimp Tempura. The hot and sour soup was a no-go though she didn't completely discount the egg drop.

They were on the sofa watching a kids' program about the behind-the-scenes antics of a fictional dance show. Ainsley wasn't asking questions so Clint assumed she understood at least enough to extrapolate the rest. Or she could be too tired to ask questions despite her earlier denial. The last was disproved when she inquired about a particular piece of electronic equipment.

"That's a Wii. Latest model. It's used to play games on the television. Wanna try?"

"Aye," she smiled shyly and added, "Dad." It came out sounding like "Dud."

The bottom of Clint's stomach dropped out. It was the first time since she was two that he'd been called Dad. And, dammit, he loved it, but didn't make a big deal out of it. "Cool. So this is it works…" He explained what to do and how the game was played. "Ready?"

"Aye!"

Clint started the game, going easy on Ainsley until she got the hang of it, then it was on! When he got tired, Natasha and Ainsley played a dance game until Natasha could barely walk. By then, it was late.

~~O~~

Lying in the dark, ZAychik clutched in her arms, Ainsley listened to the strange sounds that seemed to be right there in the room with her. Now that she was alone without all the chaos and confusion of this new place to keep her mind busy, she missed her adoptive family. The quiet chirping of the insects, the whisper of Winifred's breathing, the soft murmurs of her parent's voices in the other room were all familiar. There was nothing recognizable in this room, apart from her stuffed bunny, bow and quiver.

A high-pitched shriek of a siren broke into her reflections startling so badly that she threw off the covers and ran down to the other bedroom pounding on the door with the flat of her hand. "Mum! Da!"

She heard footsteps just before the door opened to show Natasha's worried face. "What's wrong, Ainsley?"

Ainsley wrapped her arms around Natasha, holding on very tight and sniffling. "I-I cannae sleep fer all th' noise. 'N I miss Mum 'n Da 'n Winnie 'n…"

Cradling her close, Natasha whispered, "_IdI ko mne, DEvochka moyA_. You can sleep with us."

Natasha lay down, scooted to the middle and held the covers up so Ainsley could get in and pulling them up to her neck. Urging her onto her side, Natasha curled an arm over her daughter's stomach to keep her close. The bed shifted as Ainsley felt Clint's arm settle around both of them. Comforted by the love and physical closeness of her parents, Ainsley was finally able to fall asleep.

**Loch Lomond Dig Site**

**A Few Weeks Later**

The leaves had begun to change color turning the trees into a riot of color. A chill was in the air today forcing archaeologist Honoria Higgins to work in her down vest and drink cup after cup of tea to stay warm. Naturally, that led to more trips to the loo. On one such trip she heard the sound of a vehicle coming through the forest. The path was long and winding so she rushed to the stone building, coming out just as a shiny black Hummer pulled to a stop. A man, woman, and young girl got out and walked toward her wearing smiles of greeting, the man extending his hand. "Dr. Higgins? Dominic Trask, my wife Natalie and our daughter Morgan. The chancellor of the university said he'd give you a heads-up about our visit."

Honoria shook his hand and Natalie's, nodding to the girl. "Yes, he did. Very nice to meet all of you, though I'm a bit confused as to your reason for coming here."

Trask put his arm around the girl, grinning proudly. "Our daughter is considering archaeology as a field of study. We were in the area and heard about this site. The chancellor is or _was_ a good friend of my father's. But if we'd be in the way…"

He left the sentence hanging, his smile meant to charm, and Honoria had to admit that Trask did have charisma. His wife and daughter too. The chancellor had already approved their visit so what could she say? "Not at all, Mr. Trask. Will you be staying overnight?"

This time, Natalie answered. "We did bring a tent and enough food for everyone plus wine and beer."

The last was tacked on with a sly grin that said she knew how her lot loved their alcohol. "It's very much appreciated, Mrs. Trask."

Rubbing his hands together, Trask radiated enthusiasm. "Please call us Natalie and Dominic or Dom, if you like. Where should we set up?"

Over her shoulder, Honoria called out, "Simon!"

Her assistant, Simon Abernathy, ran to her side. "You bellowed, Your Majesty?"

Shooting him a mock glare, she introduced the Trask family. "Dominic, Natalie and Morgan Trask, my assistant, Dr. Simon Abernathy. Show them where to pitch their tent, please, Simon."

Bowing as if they were royalty, Simon cocked his elbow toward Morgan, "Allow me to escort you, my dear Miss Trask."

The girl spoke for the first time, startling Honoria and Simon. Her parents were obviously American, yet their child spoke with a Scottish accent. "Thank ye kindly, Simon. I'd be delighted."

Though curious, Honoria left their guests to Simon's tender mercies and returned to her labors. They'd just uncovered another family burial plot and were in the process of packing the bones to be shipped to the forensic team for reconstruction and DNA analysis.

Hours later, Morgan wondered over to Honoria's tent. "Miss, do ye mind if I join ye a bit?"

"Not at all, child. And call me Norie. It's what my brothers and sisters call me." Honoria pulled out a second chair and the girl plopped into it. "You're just in time. The forensic artist has just sent over some facial reconstructions of a family group. We'll look at them together, shall we?"

"Aye, please."

Honoria opened the file and clicked on the first image. It showed a gray-haired man who, according to Audrey's notes, had died at the age of fifty and had been buried next to his wife who had preceded him in death by at least a year. As she opened each image, Honoria explained how they determined the age and probable occupation of the individual. Then she came to one picturing an entire family of fifteen. "See here," she pointed to different facial and physical features, "here and here? These show how certain traits are passed down through the generations. Unfortunately, no public records exist so we don't have names for them."

"Aye, I see."

The tone of Ainsley's voice was odd and Honoria was at a loss to explain it. Tilting her head to the side, Honoria gave the girl a small smile. "You have your father's eyes. Not just the color, but the shape."

Morgan contemplated that for a few seconds. "What o' m' mum do I show?"

Using a finger to turn Morgan's head, again Honoria smiled, wider this time. "Her smile."

Very pleased with the information, Morgan pointed at the screen. "Have ye more?"

"Aye, I do," Honoria imitated Morgan with a grin. "We found writings supposedly done by the local priest, Father Joseph. He called it 'The Legend of the Loch'."

"Would ya tell th' tale?"

Turning sideways and lowering her voice to an eerie register, Honoria began the story. "The writings tell of a husband and wife who wandered the lands searching for their kidnapped daughter. They stayed for a time in the village of Laomainn, endearing themselves to the residents. Father Joseph also credits them with preventing an epidemic. From the description, it sounds like the flu.

"One day, they announced to the village leader and his wife that they were returning to their quest to find their child. The couple was provided with a wagon, horses to pull it, and enough provisions to get them to the next village. At the same time, the youngest daughter of one of the families was reported missing. Some thought she'd run off. The priest claimed the couple had taken the girl as a replacement for the child they'd lost. Unfortunately, the priest didn't provide names.

"Three days later, the horses found their way back to Laomainn. And though they inquired of every stranger who passed through, the couple was never seen again.

"Today, some say the spirits of all three remain where Laomainn once stood and can be seen wandering the land when the moon is full, just as it was the night the horses returned with the empty wagon." Morgan didn't say anything, and when Honoria looked at her, the girl had the strangest look on her face. Turning back to the computer, she brought up the next family rendering. It filled the screen provoking a loud gasp from the girl. Her eyes went very wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Morgan, what's wrong?"

With a sob, she jumped up and ran from the tent calling out for her parents, "Mum! Dad!"

**TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Dominic Trask

Natasha Romanoff/Natalie Trask

Ainsley McKenna/Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff/Morgan Trask

Dr. Honoria Higgins, archaeologist

Dr. Simon Abernathy, archaeologist

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 24**

"How did we get stuck digging _again?_"

Natasha brushed the hair from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand leaving a streak of dirt. "Taking advantage of our supposed naiveté to get the grunt work done."

"Maybe we should set 'em straight."

Returning to her digging, one side of Natasha's mouth turned up in a smile. "Then we wouldn't be in disguise. They also have no memory of us being here before because it didn't happen. Or something like that. Selvig tried to explain."

He jabbed the shovel into the dirt and removed his work gloves as he ambled over to her side. One arm slipped around her waist. "Ainsley's off exploring. We could go back to our tent and…"

"Mum! Dad!"

At the shout from their daughter, the shovel Natasha was holding fell to the ground with a thump as she took off after Clint, reaching the tent just a few steps behind Ainsley. They young girl was standing in the middle of the tent crying when Clint pulled the zippered opening aside so Natasha could go in first.

Ainsley saw them and grabbed onto Natasha's arms, her eyes darting back and forth between them. "I-I was with Dr. Higgins 'n I-I saw…" Her breathing increased to the point that she was in danger of hyperventilating. They had to do something before she passed out.

Natasha pulled her gloves off, throwing them to the floor while Clint sat down on the end of the nearest cot then urged Ainsley onto his lap. He cradled her close, softly singing to her as if she were a baby. Sitting beside Clint, Natasha stroked Ainsley's hair. Eventually, she stopped crying, but she refused to say what had upset her.

Clint's eyes met hers, the blue turning the color of storm clouds as he got to his feet. "Stay with her while I find out what happened."

When he tried to put her down, Ainsley held on, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "No, Pápochka."

Getting to her feet, Natasha said, "I'll go." Flinging aside the tent flap, she stomped across the compound, bursting into Higgins' tent without knocking. "What the _hell_ did you say to my daughter?"

The tall slender blonde shook her head. "I don't _know_ what happened. We were looking at some of the reconstructions the forensic artist made and she just ran out."

"Which one?"

Honoria motioned her to the computer. "I was showing her how physical traits are passed down generation to generation." Despite the tense atmosphere, Honoria smiled. "She wanted to know which attributes she got from each of you. When I brought up this one, she started crying and ran out."

Natasha leaned closer to the computer, not surprised to see that the photograph that had upset Ainsley was of the McKennas. Immediately sorry that she'd come in here with the intention of slugging Higgins, Natasha said, "Morgan's Scottish nanny passed away recently. She was devastated. We took a leave of absence to do some family bonding. She heard about this dig-I have no idea where-and wanted to come." She pointed at Edeen. "She resembles Nanny Millicent."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss, Natalie."

"You couldn't have known. Dom's with her right now."

Higgins nodded knowingly. "A daddy's girl, huh? I was too. Still am."

Reluctant to even think about a life lived with loving parents instead of a manipulative guardian, Natasha smiled. "I grew up in an orphanage and don't remember my parents."

The archaeologist sensed that it was a sore subject and wisely left it alone. "How long have you and Dominic been married?"

"Seems like forever. You?"

"Came close a few times." Higgins seemed to want to talk, so Natasha waited for her to continue. "Johnny and I met at university. Three months before our wedding, he died of a cerebral aneurysm. Four years later, I met Paul. We'd just gotten engaged, hadn't even chosen a wedding date when he died from an undiagnosed heart condition." She shifted in her chair so she could see Natasha better. "Many years later, Julian came along and we were very happy. Or so I thought. I sent him packing when I found him in our bed with a Pilates instructor."

Standing, Natasha touched Higgins on the shoulder. "I used to think that love was for children. Then I found Dominic. We had Morgan, and I found that love is for everyone. All you have to do is be open to the possibility."

"That's quite an astute observation, Natalie. Thank you."

"I should get back. And don't worry about Morgan. She'll be fine."

Higgins nodded and returned to her work. As she neared their tent, Natasha heard Clint and Ainsley talking quietly about his life when he was her age. She understood that he shared those memories with Ainsley so that she would know that he knew how she felt about losing her family. Not wanting to disturb them, Natasha returned to the area to which they'd been assigned. Picking up the shovel, she got back to work.

~~O~~

Clint and Natasha had taken a leave of absence to bond with Ainsley. Natasha sold her apartment and moved in with Clint and Ainsley. Over the next few weeks, they taught her about how the world operated in the twenty-first century. The girl was highly intelligent absorbing everything like a sponge, often proving that she could put her new-found knowledge to work. She also showed a high level of comprehension rather than just repeating back what she'd been taught.

At least she had in the beginning. Since they'd returned from the Loch Lomond dig site, Natasha noticed that Ainsley spent more and more time staring out the window when she was supposed to be studying or doing chores. She also didn't show the same level of enthusiasm for subjects that had once captured her imagination. When Clint asked her to play Wii, she turned him down most of the time, preferring to spend the evenings in her room.

For social interaction, they had convinced a local middle school to allow Ainsley to attend some of the extra-curricular activities such as basketball, volleyball, football games. Since Lock Lomond, she went to the games, but watched with only part of her attention. The rest of the time, she sat staring into space.

After the first few nights of missing the McKennas and sleeping with Natasha and Clint, she had found joy and excitement in everything, but now she moped around the apartment, becoming more and more sullen.

Watching her through the bedroom door left ajar, Natasha held in a sigh as she walked back to the workout room where Clint was lifting weights. He finished the set and Natasha handed him a bottle of water and a towel. "I'm worried about Ainsley."

"She's depressed." Natasha's eyebrows climbed up her forehead nearly to her hairline at the perceptive observation. He looked back and deadpanned, "Takes one to know one, Nat. I've already spoken to Hoffman. He's agreed to see her this weekend at his home instead of the office. I think she'll be more comfortable there."

At that moment, Natasha loved Clint more than ever and wanted to show him. She locked the door then came back, grasping the bottom edge of his T-shirt and pulling it up.

"What are you… _Now?_ I'm all sweaty."

"Don't care." His shirt came off and she tossed it aside. Before he could make a move, she removed her own shirt, tossing it away with a flick of her wrist. The rest of their clothes were just as quickly discarded as they lay down on the mat and Natasha gave Clint everything he asked of her…and more.

~~O~~

"But I dinnae _want_ t' go."

Natasha turned in the front seat of Clint's SUV so she could see her daughter. Ainsley had her arms crossed, he lower lip stuck out in a pout. "I know. All we ask is that you try it."

The girl's eyes looked up. "He willnae tell ye what I've said?"

"It's called doctor-patient confidentiality. He won't tell us anything you don't want him to."

"What if I dinnae want t' talk?"

Smoothly stopping at the light, Clint said over his shoulder, "That's between the two of you. He might give us advice on how to help you without telling us the exact nature of the problem. Does that make sense, sweetheart?"

She seemed to think it over for a while. "Aye. This Dr. Hoffman willnae tell tales."

"Right." They rode in silence for the rest of the drive, each of them immersed in their own thoughts until Clint stopped in front of Hoffman's home and shut off the engine. Ainsley looked at the house with misgiving. Standing on the sidewalk, Clint tugged gently and she reluctantly went with him to the front door. Natasha had gone ahead and knocked. Hoffman opened the door just as they reached the front steps. "Doc. This is our daughter, Ainsley. Sweetheart, this is Dr. Hoffman."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ainsley. Would you like to come in?"

Natasha placed her arm around the girl's shoulders and hugged her. "We'll be just up the street. We'll be back in a couple of hours. If you want to leave before then, Dr. Hoffman will call."

"I dinnae want t' stay, Mum. Please."

Over their daughter's head, Natasha's eyes pleaded with Clint. He could talk her into almost anything. Getting down on one knee, Clint tucked a lock of Ainsley's bright red hair behind her ear. "Everything will be okay." She turned away and he urged her to look at him again. "He's going to help you, _malyshka_, just like he helped _me._"

Natasha's eyes met Hoffman's, both startled by the frank confession. Finally, Ainsley nodded. "I'll stay for a bit. If I dinnae like it, ye'll come for me?"

"Of course." Natasha and Clint each kissed her on the cheek, waiting until the door closed to returned to the SUV. "Coffee?"

"Beer," Clint stated curtly as he started the engine, dropping it into gear and adding, "but I'll settle for coffee. We can set a wedding date while we're at it."

At the coffee shop, they found a quiet corner where they could see all the exits and anyone coming or going. Natasha took a sip of her drink then set it on the table. "When do you want to do it?"

"Next weekend."

"Clint! That's not enough time. Fury, Coulson and Hill have to be available. And Ainsley has to be up to it." Wrapping her fingers around his hand, she gave it a squeeze. "Everything's changing."

He brought her hand up and kissed the back of her fingers. "Change is not only desirable, it is necessary."

With a snort of amusement, she asked, "Confucius?"

Grinning, one eyebrow lifted impudently. "Frank Zappa."

Natasha grinned and held out her coffee cup. "To change."

"To change." They touched cups and drank.

~~O~~

Hoffman watched Ainsley wander around the living room, looking at everything and touching nothing. She seemed captivated by his family photos. Once or twice, he thought she would ask a question, but she didn't.

The item of greatest interest was the baby grand piano. She trailed a finger over the satin finish then her attention was caught by the chess set on the table near the window that looked out onto the side garden. She picked up the knight, tracing the ears of the horse's head.

Going to her side, he asked, "Do you play?"

"Aye. Some."

"Your mother taught you?"

Shaking her head, she replaced the knight in its proper place. "M' father."

That bit of news surprised him because he thought of Clint as lacking the patience for the game. "Would you like to play?"

For a few long moments, she watched him with the same unblinking stare he'd seen from Clint. She'd already made the decision, but wanted him to think she was giving the matter a great deal of thought. Then, she sat down, scooting the chair close to the table while Hoffman sat across from her.

Ainsley employed the one of the most powerful openings in the game of chess, known as the KIA, the King's Indian Attack. Less than five minutes into the game, Hoffman mentally revised nearly everything he'd ever thought about Clint Barton being nothing more than an overgrown child with an extraordinary talent for an unusual weapon. Unusual for _this_ century.

"They've told ya th' tale?"

In this child, Hoffman sensed what was called an old soul. She also had a naiveté that was rare in this day and age, owing to the time she spent living in the past with no access to modern technology. "They have, but I wanted to hear it from you, if you don't mind."

Ainsley didn't even hesitate, just shook no. "I'm nae ready t' speak of it."

Accepting graciously, Hoffman contemplated his next move. "How much do you remember from before?"

Shrugging, the girl's hand hovered over the board then suddenly picked up and moved her piece capturing one of his. The move was impressive for one so young. "Some. When they speak of it, I can see it in m' head, but I dinnae know if it be a real remembrance or if it's th' tellin' that put it there."

Again, Hoffman was struck by Ainsley's insight. Not many at any age would realize there was a difference. "That's quite perceptive, Ainsley. Have you any memories, real or otherwise, regarding how Clint and Natasha treated you when you were small? Were they demonstrative or reserved in how they showed affection, or did they show none at all?"

The psychologist relieved Ainsley another piece, setting it aside with the others. Then, for one of the few times since the session started, she looked directly at him. The glare she displayed was more than a little familiar as he'd encountered the same one from Clint on numerous occasions during his treatment following the invasion.

"Mum 'n Da-Dad dinnae treat me poorly, if that's what ye be askin'. They loved me 'n showed such each day. Voices were raised, but they dinnae strike me in anger or meanness. Not once. 'N I consider it an insult that ye would even suggest such. I were told ye be a friend, but yer words dinnae seem friend-like."

"No insult was intended, dear child. The question was just to gauge your level of recall. Nothing more." She seemed content with the explanation that wasn't an apology just before she captured one of his knights in a move he hadn't seen coming. "Have they talked about their work?"

"Aye. They've said that it be confidential. That means they cannae speak o' th' exact work exceptin' that they be protectin' those that cannae do so themselves. I think that means they be secret warriors, heroes o' th' land, though I'm told it be called th' United States 'n we dinnae have a king but a president, which is sorta like a king that's replaced every four t' eight years."

Chuckling at Ainsley's description of the democratic process, Hoffman contemplated the move she'd just made, easily seeing several that could lead to victory for him. "That's an unusual description, but essentially correct."

"M' thoughts are that they be heroes t' this president in secret, but dinnae wish t' be called such."

"And what would you tell someone who asked what your parents do?"

Her eyes widened when he moved his piece as though she hadn't anticipated where it might lead. Again, that gaze came to rest on him, though less lethal than previously. More prideful. "That Mum 'n Dad be law keepers called…the feds?"

The last was a question, the slang term for government agents sounding awkward in her charming Scottish accent. "That works. And speaking of kings, I do believe yours is in jeopardy."

After an incredibly stimulating game, Ainsley surprised him by suggesting they play a similar game with different playing pieces. They had just finished when the front door chimed. She glanced in that direction seemingly annoyed at the interruption. Hoffman already knew who it would be. He went to the door, motioning for Natasha and Clint to enter, leading them to the dining room. Ainsley was drinking a glass of milk, a zippered plastic bag filled with M&Ms near her right hand and a deck of cards piled sloppily in the center of the table.

"Are you feeding our child _candy_, Dr. Hoffman?" Natasha wasn't happy as evidenced by her glare.

"No, Mum. We played th' game ye taught me. Poker. That's m' winnin's." There was pride in her voice, completely justified. Ainsley lost the chess game, but she had excelled at poker.

Chuckling, Clint said, "We should've warned you not to let her talk you into playing poker, doc. She's ruthless at cards. Just like her mother."

Ainsley carried her glass to the kitchen, returned and picked up the bag. "I'm ready t' go."

Hoffman walked them to the door. "You must come back, Ainsley, if only to give me a chance to reclaim my pride."

Her smile was genuine and filled with warmth. From what Clint had told him, she hadn't found anything amusing for a while. "Aye. Though it'll do ye no good. Mum taught me well."

That made Hoffman chuckle out loud. "That she did. Your father as well." To her parents, he said, "I'm available any day or time that's convenient. Just call at least a day ahead."

Clint shook Hoffman's hand then followed Natasha and Ainsley out onto the front stoop. "Unless something unexpected comes up, any day is good. Oh, except three weeks from Saturday."

"What's happening then?"

Natasha slipped her arm around Clint's waist and he pulled her close with a look of affection. "We're getting married. You're welcome to come to the wedding, Dr. Hoffman. We'll let you know exact details soon."

Before the psychologist could formulate a response, the family walked out the front door to the SUV and soon were on their way. Shaking his head, Hoffman went inside to write up his notes. When finished, he started a new document in his articles folder with Ainsley and her parents as the subjects. He didn't know how he'd get around explaining the time travel element to his non-government vetted colleagues, but he'd figure it out.

~~O~~

The weekend following Ainsley's first meeting with Hoffman, Clint planned and executed a barbeque as a way for their friends to meet Ainsley. While the grill heated up, Clint and Coulson talked. "Nat and I are getting married in two weeks."

"Way past time, if you ask me."

Using one of his milder glares, Clint responded, "Didn't ask. What I _did_ want to know is if you'd be my best man."

His friend grinned. "I'd be honored."

"Cool. I…what the hell is _that?_"

Coulson looked down at himself then on the ground around him. "What?"

Clint pointed with the same hand that held his beer bottle. "That."

The agent looked at his hand, puzzled. "My wedding ring? What of it?"

"Didn't know you were dating anyone and you got married while we were…" Clint gestured to indicate their trip into the past.

The look on Coulson's face turned to confusion and a small amount of worry. "You were my best man and Tasha was Maria's maid of honor. Did something happen in Scotland that you didn't tell us about?"

With a sigh, Coulson fished out his phone, accessed the photo and scrolled to one of Clint and Natasha flanking Hill and Coulson. The men were in tuxes, Hill in a knee length white dress and veil with Natasha in an elegant eggshell colored dress of a similar design.

Playing it off, Clint rubbed the back of his head and sigh. "Guess I'm still feeling side effects from surgery."

"Maybe you should see the doc."

Nodding sheepishly, Clint took another drink of beer and set the bottle aside. "Monday. Right now, it's time to put the burgers on."

The two men looked up at a loud squeal and laughter. Ainsley and the other children were playing volleyball, his daughter having so much fun, she'd be exhausted when they got home from the park. It would be the good kind of tired. In just three sessions, Hoffman had managed to get Ainsley to open up about the things that were bothering her. Naturally, Hoffman wouldn't confirm or deny, but he didn't have to. Their daughter was getting better and nothing else mattered.

~~O~~

Two weeks later, the wedding went off without a hitch, mostly because SHIELD Commander Maria Hill-Coulson refused to allow anything to go wrong. She ordered the junior agents around as if they were performing diagnostics on the boat prior to an inspection instead of decorating the mess hall for a wedding.

Natasha had one maid of honor, Ainsley, and one matron of honor, Hill, both looking beautifully elegant in matching gowns. Coulson was the best man and Fury officiated, all three in tuxes. Stark, Rogers, Banner and Thor had sent their regrets at being unable to attend.

And there, in front of their closest friends and their daughter at their side, Natasha and Clint promised to love and honor each other for the rest of their lives. Clint was certain he'd seen Hill wipe a tear from her eye, but when she caught him looking at her she glared and stalked off to check on the supply of champagne. Shaking his head and grinning, Clint drew Natasha close to his side and kissed her once more for good luck.

**Several Months Later**

"Mum! Dad! Come quick!"

Clint was tempted to finish getting dinner ready before going to his daughter's aid, but the last time he did that, Ainsley had somehow broken the parental control code on the television and was watching a very bloody zombie apocalypse movie. He and Natasha had found her hiding behind the living room sofa, and every few seconds she would stick her head up, gasp and drop down again. He turned it off immediately, of course, and it had taken the persuasive powers of both parents to coax her out. That night, she'd begged to sleep with them when the bad dreams started. That would _not_ happen tonight.

Natasha came running from upstairs, meeting him at the living room door. She looked at him and he looked back with a head shake and a shrug.

The sliding doors were cracked about four inches. Clint grabbed one side, Natasha the other, sliding them open at the same time to see their daughter sitting on the sofa shaking her laptop. "Rosie, what's wrong?"

"Och! This dafty thing won't _go!_" She set the laptop on the coffee table, poking random keys.

"Go where, _malyshka__?" Natasha sounded confused and Clint didn't blame her._

_Growling, Ainsley poked the same key over and over again. "It willnae go __anywhere__."_

Taking seats on either side of Ainsley, Clint and Natasha looked at the monitor and were met by a distorted image of a group photo, but who these people were, neither could tell.

Her parents' eyes met behind her back as she hunched over, elbows on her knees, her right hand twisted in her hair. Natasha very gently removed Ainsley hand from her long red hair and held it. Speaking softly, she asked, "What were you trying to do?"

The girl waved her free hand at the television, the sound muted. On it a smiling Sean Castra was speaking to one of his co-judges on the series _American Star_. They smiled at each other when they spoke, but it didn't reach their eyes. "That dunderhead said I could give m' approval for m' favorite o' those providin' th' singin' 'n dancin'. But when I tried t' enter th' proper spell t' take me there, this dafty thing _stopped_."

Ainsley stopped poking the Escape key, giving her father what he called her puppy dog look. Clint reached around her to hit control/alt/delete to reset it. "There you go."

Her anger spent, she flopped back in her seat, slouched down, her chin touching her chest. "It's nae use. I'm a pure goon. Maybe I should stay with th' bow 'n helpin' in th' garden."

Natasha hugged the girl to her. "You're _not_ a pure goon. It's just going to take a while, that's all."

Clint tugged on a lock of Ainsley's hair. "Yeah. Be patient and take your time."

Reluctantly, Ainsley nodded. She hugged Clint then put her hands out for the laptop. "It just that I dinnae know when t' use th' buttons 'n when t' touch th' window."

The last was a question, which Natasha answered. "Monitor or screen. But if it makes more sense then, by all means, call it a window. And the operating system is Windows 8. _No one_ understands it."

"'Tis true. But I'll be needin' t' know th' proper words for schoolin'."

"That won't be for a while, kiddo. Your mother and I want to home-school you until you've caught up to the rest of the twenty-first century."

Now her expression turned thoughtful. "I been havin' dreams since I were a wee bairn, 'n now that I'm here, it all makes sense. Mum, m' _other_ mum, told me t' talk only t' her, Da, Brendan 'n Winnie about it. No one else, 'cause they'd think I were dafty."

"She's probably right. You remember what we told you?"

"Aye." She thought, and said, "Clarke's Third Law: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. It means that just 'cause it _looks_ like magic, that dinnae mean it is. No worries."

Satisfied, Clint kissed her temple. He took Natasha's hand, and at the door, he turned back. "By the way, Rosie, they're not spells. They're web addresses."

"But if you want to call them spells, go ahead," Natasha added with a look of mild reproof at her husband.

Clint had gone a few steps ahead of his wife and was standing in the foyer facing the living room doors. The front door was to his right and behind him was a second smaller area that had been turned into a workout room. The bedrooms were on the second floor, three of them, and two full baths. Currently, the third bedroom doubled as a home office. There was a detached three car garage. To his left, the hall took one to the kitchen, dining room, laundry room, a half bath and the back yard. The door under the stairs led to the basement.

Natasha closed the living room doors then leaned against them, chuckling softly. "Our girl is something else, isn't she?"

Clint took her in his arms, rubbing his chin on the top of her head. "Absolutely. I'll check on dinner. You weren't kidding when you said I would do all the cooking."

~~O~~

Natasha planted a lingering kiss on her husband, moving away quickly before he got any ideas that would necessitate them ordering out _again_. She watched him strut down the hall until he turned the corner then headed for the stairs. One hand was on the rail when Ainsley called out, "Mum. Come help, please."

Natasha sat beside her daughter again, adjusting the monitor to lessen the glare from the light. "What do you need help with now, _malyshka__?"_

_"__A baby."_

**TBC**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

This is it, dear readers. The final chapter. Hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Nameste,

Sandy

**Cast:**

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Ainsley Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff

Special Agent Phil Coulson, SHIELD

Assorted cats

**Avengers**

**Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 25**

Ainsley's question shocked Natasha leaving her speechless for a few hard heartbeats. She cleared her throat. "Why would you want a baby?"

Touching the screen, Ainsley hovered over the Internet icon. "Well, I've been missin' Bren 'n Winnie 'n wee George. Thought I could look on th' Internet for a brother or sister. You did say there's places what have bairns who dinnae have a mum 'n dad."

"Y-eah."

"Da-Dad said ye werenae able t' make another after me." The pre-teen girl shrugged. "I wanted t' surprise ye by gettin' th' whereabouts o' such places so we could make a visit."

Touched by Ainsley's thoughtfulness, Natasha hugged her tight. "That's sweet, love. But it's a little more complicated than that. You can't order a baby off the Internet."

"Aye. I know." Ainsley's expression brightened. "Tomorrow, let's go t' th' place where th' wee bairns stay 'n pick one out."

Pleased that her daughter was passionate about something, Natasha also felt bad that she had to burst Ainsley's bubble twice in one evening. "It doesn't work like that. In order to adopt, first we have to select an agency and complete a series of meetings with a social worker. Do we want a boy or a girl? A baby or an older child? From America or another country?"

"That's a lot t' do."

"Yes, it is. And it takes a while. Months or even years." _We could use our influence and shorten it to days. Better talk to Clint first._

Ainsley's eyes took on that same gleam of mischief that Clint got when he was about to spring a trap that Natasha had unknowingly walked into. The girl took her by the hand and now that smirk, the same one her father used, joined the eye-gleam confirming what Natasha suspected. That her daughter was playing her in order to get something else. "If I cannae have a sister or brother, then I'll have a cat. In th' mornin', we'll go t' th'…" she glanced at the laptop, "…Tri-County Animal Shelter. Th' Googley thing said it's just a wee ways away 'n they're open followin' the mornin' meal."

~~O~~

After checking on the meatloaf and scalloped potatoes, Clint took out salad ingredients. Choosing a clean knife, he diced three Roma tomatoes, celery, yellow and red bell peppers and a small purple onion, adding them all to a mix of baby greens. He wiped his hands then located the grater and shredded a bit of mild cheddar on top. Opening the cabinet to the right of the sink, he took down three bowls, portioned the salad then dropped several croutons onto each.

The scuff of a shoe on the hardwood floor of the hall alerted him that he wasn't alone. He made no overt reaction knowing it wasn't an intruder. He turned. "Hey."

Natasha stood in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning on the jamb. "Fair warning. Ainsley has a plan up her sleeve. Or I should say she _did_ have a plan. It's been nipped in the bud."

"What're you talking about?"

Pointing over her shoulder, Natasha came all the way into the sparkling white, black and chrome kitchen, leaning on the island across from him. "She just tried to go online to order a baby brother or sister."

Clint had snitched a piece of cheese from one of the bowls, and while he didn't spew it all over, he did stop chewing momentarily. Pushing the food into his cheek, he said, "Um, what?"

Her lips were pressed together, to keep from laughing or screaming, Clint couldn't tell. She nodded and plucked a crouton from one of the bowls, holding it between two fingers. "Wanted it to be a surprise because she knows we're unable to conceive through the usual means."

"Nat, she's old enough to know where babies come from, and it _isn't_ the Internet."

"True. Still has a lot to learn about playing her parents too."

Proud of his daughter's audacity and her wish to make them happy, Clint finished chewing the cheese and followed it with the remains of a bottle of water before speaking again. "You talked her out of it, right?"

"I did. What she _really_ wanted was a cat, so you're taking her to the shelter after breakfast. It opens at nine." Natasha got that look in her eyes telling Clint there was more. "You don't think Coulson put her up to it, do you?"

"What makes you say that?"

Natasha popped the crouton into her mouth, crunching on it as she went through her thought processes. "The two of them have been thick as thieves since just before the wedding. They video chat every day when Coulson's not on a mission."

Shaking his head, Clint went to the 'fridge for salad dressing. "He wouldn't dare." Then after a few more seconds of careful cogitation, he turned a puzzled frown on Natasha. "Would he?"

"You know Coulson."

"I _do_. That's why I'm asking."

She shrugged, resigned to the fact that their daughter was learning to manipulate others from a man who'd made it into an art form. "Nothing we can do about it."

"Unfortunately. Dinner's in ten minutes."

"Then I'll be back in nine." With a loving smile, Natasha returned to her home office.

~~O~~

The den doors closed behind Clint and Natasha. Ainsley pretended intense interest in the _American Star_ website for another couple of minutes then took a tablet from behind the couch pillow, Phil Coulson's smiling face peering out at her. "_How did it go?_"

She could hardly contain her excitement. "Dad 'n me are goin' to th' animal shelter in th' mornin' t' get a cat."

"_Told you it would work_."

"Ye've known mum 'n dad a while?"

One eyebrow seemed to crawl up his forehead just a wee bit, a gleam of humor shining in his blue eyes. "_Aye. Clint was recruited after he left the circus. It took almost two years to find him. He recruited Natasha within six months of becoming a full-time agent._"

Most of the time, people used words she still didn't understand, though she could usually figure out the meaning from how it was used in a sentence. Uncle Phil hired Dad, Dad hired Mum then, Mum and Dad had her. Casting a quick glance at the den door, she leaned a little closer to the monitor. "Then can ya tell me why they named me Annabelle Rose?"

Some of the light went out of his eyes though he didn't change expression. "_Annabelle is-__was__ my sister's name and Rose, my mother's. A few months before you were born, they were killed in a car accident. I suggested the name and they liked it._"

"Then it's a grand name 'n I'm honored it were given to _me_. If it means that much to ya, I could take it on again."

He shook his head. "_Not if you don't want to. Though you might consider an alternative._"

"Oh? What's that then?"

"_Keep Ainsley as your first name and Annabelle Rose as middle names_."

Ainsley slapped a hand on the table. "Done." She sat up, straight and proud. "From this day forward, I shall be known t' all as Ainsley Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff. I'd use McKenna as well, but that's goan a bit far in my opinion."

Phil's humor came back. "_And when you get into trouble, by the time they get all those names out, they'll most likely forget why they were angry, but I wouldn't count on it._"

Nodding in wry agreement, Ainsley glanced over at the door. "Dad'll be callin' us t' supper soon. Will ye and Aunt Maria come see my new cat Saturday?"

"_If we can get away. Good night, Ainsley._"

"God be with ye, Uncle Phil."

~~O~~

Natasha kissed Clint and Ainsley as they left for their trip to the animal shelter. The door closed behind them, Ainsley's excited voice cutting off when she got into the front seat of the SUV.

Whenever they went out, she stared at everything with fascination though she was getting used to the active pace in this century. Since she began her sessions with Hoffman, she was a completely different girl. Before and after the incident at the dig site, she had seldom mentioned anyone from the village where she'd grown up. Not even her family. Now, nearly every day the girl spoke of someone or something from Laomainn. Many times, this would lead to a funny story or sentimental reminiscence. At least now she could do so without crying herself to sleep afterwards.

So she could spend more time with her daughter, Natasha had left the field to train new agents for SHIELD. On occasion, she would take a mission that required a certain…finesse, but they were few and far between. She swiped her tablet from the desk, grabbed her jacket and went out to the car. It only took forty minutes to drive from home to the compound at Quantico and today, traffic was lighter than usual.

Classes went well for a change and she was back on the road again by 1700. By the time she reached home, dinner would be ready. Five minutes out, she received a text from Clint. _Ordered Luigi's. Please pick up. Love you!_

With a happy smile she responded, _Will do. Love to you and Ainsley._

As Natasha was coming out of Luigi's, she received another text from her husband. _*smiley face* FYI surprise at home. Please don't hurt me._

Frantically, she sent back, _What did you DO? _There was a pause long enough for her to pull out of the parking lot into the street and stop at the light.

_It's not my fault. Really. Resistance was futile. *sheepish shrug*_

Home was only a few blocks away so she tossed the phone into the passenger seat with a huff. She pulled into the driveway, parking her compact sedan alongside Clint's SUV, took the food from the back, retrieved her phone and went to the front door dreading what she might find on the other side.

As soon as she stepped through the door, Natasha heard mewling and meowing is several different tones. Rolling her eyes, she knew that Ainsley had convinced Clint to get her more than one cat or kitten. Following the sounds to the kitchen, she set the food on the counter, which wasn't an easy task as cats and kittens of all sizes entwined themselves around her ankles crying out at the scent of the food. "Please tell me they're foster cats."

Sitting on the floor cradling a long haired white, orange and black cat that seemed quite content to stay just as he was, Clint shrugged. "She wanted that one," he pointed at a short haired white female with a light orange and black face lounging in the middle of the floor, "This guy caught my eye so…," he indicated the one he was holding. "Those two are brothers so they were a package deal. That one thinks he's king of mountain, and I thought why not. Then on the way out, someone came in with the, uh, crazy cat lady starter kit," one hand waved to indicate the other five, shrugging sheepishly while using that charming how-can-you-resist-this-face grin.

"And you gave in without a word of protest."

"Ainsley and I will take care of them. You won't even know they're here." The rustling of paper drew their attention to the fact that two cats where investigating the bag of food on the counter. Horrified, Clint rushed to shoo them away. "Get down! You're not allowed on the counter!"

The brothers glared at him as if to say, "You're not the boss of us" and went back to pawing at the bag. Setting "his" cat on the floor, Clint pushed the other two off then checked that the containers hadn't been compromised.

Ainsley was on the floor playing with her new pets seeming not to have noticed her mother was home.

Huffing in resignation, Natasha took out plates, glasses and silverware. "Fine. Just keep them out of my way." She felt a nudge at her leg and looked down to see a fluffy gray and white kitten about six months old looking up at her with limpid green eyes. The kitten meowed plaintively and against her will, Natasha felt her heart melting, but still felt the need to keep up a front. She stepped over the animal to set places at the center island so they could eat.

When dinner was over, Ainsley took the trash out so the cats couldn't get into it then she and Clint fixed up the laundry room for them to sleep in until they could make other arrangements. The situation didn't set well with the cats so they were allowed to roam free until bedtime when they all decided they wanted to sleep with Ainsley with one exception. The Clint's cat wouldn't leave his side, even following him into the bathroom. When the shower came on, the cat came running down the hall, skidded to a stop, backtracking to Ainsley's room where he disappeared under the bed.

Natasha didn't know all their names though she figured she have to learn them sooner or later, if only for Ainsley's sake. Peeking into her daughter's room, she shook her head. Most of the animals were lying on the bed with her acting as if they understood what she was reading to them. The youngest ones chased a tinkle ball under the bed then raced after it and each other. The brothers had found the perfect vantage point from which to watch the world go by: the top of the wardrobe. The one that had bonded with Clint peeked from under the bed, and the largest of them lounged on a stack of the stuffed animals as if it were his throne.

Shaking her head, Natasha walked down the hall to her office, booted up the computer and went to work on the monthly assessments. As she was putting the finishing touch on the third evaluation, the door creaked open and in walked the gray and white cat that had captured her attention earlier. "What are you doing in here?"

Sitting down with her tail curled around her feet, she meowed and waited. Unable to resist, Natasha scratched her ears making her purr. "Okay. You can stay for a while, but don't get into anything."

Natasha went back to work, startled when the cat jumped on the desk and walked between her and the monitor. She scooped her up and set her on the floor. In less than a minute, the cat was back on the desk, climbing up onto the shelf where she kept photos and reference materials. Rubbing her cheek over the corner of a book caused it to fall, Natasha snatching it out of the air before it hit the floor. Huffing, the cat wondered over to the window sill where she pushed through the gap to get between the blinds and the window, knocking over a small potted plant. Again, Natasha managed to catch it before any real damage was done. Picking her up, Natasha glared good-naturedly, holding the cat up so that they were nose to nose. "That is _not_ staying out of trouble."

She carried her down to Ainsley's room. "_Malyshka_, one of your pets came to my office."

"Mu-um! I'm nae a wee bebe anymore." Ainsley took the cat onto her lap, petting her.

"You'll always be my wee bebe even when you have your own." One of the kittens started batting Natasha's shoelaces, drawing her attention. "I should learn their names, I suppose."

Ainsley's smile brightened. "Most of 'em had names. Dad's is Scooter, my cat is Shadow for th' black on her face, those two are brothers though they dinnae look alike. They be Elliott and Dagwood." She pointed at each of the others in turn. "Th' black one is Ninja. Dunno where Dad got th' name. Th' big one with th' fluffy hair is Ichabod. That wee one is Casper. Over there on the desk, that be Purrcival 'cause he purrs all th' time. The other big one be Jasper."

Pointing at the cat she just brought back, Natasha asked, "What about that one?"

"She dinnae have a name yet."

The cat wiggled from Ainsley's grasp, stood poised on the edge of the bed and without warning, jumped into Natasha's arms. She pulled her close to keep from dropping her. "Her name should be Trouble. She's caused enough tonight." The cat snuggled closer, purring even louder. "I guess she likes it."

"She likes _you_, Mum. She can be yers."

"I don't…" Trouble reached out one very fuzzy paw and touched Natasha on the cheek giving her a small meow, melting the rest of the agent's heart. "Fine. But you have to stay off my desk."

An hour later, Clint stuck his head in. "You about done? Ainsley wants to watch a movie."

"Five minutes."

Papers slid onto the floor and Clint rushed to pick them up for her. When he laid them on the desk, a gray paw reached out and slapped his hand as an invitation to play. "Hey! What the _hell?_ Do you have a…" he leaned down to peer behind the printer. Two big green eyes looked back. "You _do._"

"Yeah, well, don't make a big deal out of it."

"I wouldn't dare. You'd kick my ass." Getting down on one knee, Clint used the back of his hand to brush Natasha's hair out of the way so he could kiss her neck. In between soft kisses along her jaw, he whispered, "I love you."

Natasha swung around, timing her turn so that Clint's next kiss ended up on her lips. "Mmm. Think we can convince Ainsley to go to bed early?"

Chuckling, Clint shook his head. "Not a chance. She's too excited about the cats."

He swooped in for another kiss just as Ainsley's voice called out, "Mum! Dad! It's time fer th' movie!"

Clint stood, holding out his hand. Natasha put hers in it and together they went downstairs to join their daughter. Peeking into the living room watching Ainsley talking to her new friends, Natasha placed her hand over Clint's heart and her head on his shoulder. "We are the two luckiest people in the world."

He tilted her head up, dropping a kiss on her lips. "Yes, we are."

**Keaton Federal Correctional Facility**

**Somewhere in Montana**

The warden led a man and a woman through the corridors of the Keaton Federal lockup. Both were impeccably dressed in what the business world would call power suits, tasteful pinstripes and white shirts. He'd been told of their imminent arrival and warned not to ask questions. Just take them to a specific cell then escort them out again.

They stopped in front of a metal door with a small barred window that looked exactly like all the other cell doors in the entire facility. The warden banged on the door. "Wake up! You've got company."

The occupant rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "What the hell do you want, Warden?"

He unlocked the door and stood aside to allow his companions to enter. The woman tossed a bag on the foot of the bed. "Get dressed. We're going for a ride."

The woman wearing prison green shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not going _anywhere_ with people I don't know."

The man said, "Mr. Smith."

And the woman responded, "Ms. Jones."

"Still doesn't tell me who you are."

Taking a half step forward, the man said, "We represent a consortium that has expressed an interest in your work."

The prisoner snorted. "My _work_ is what got me put in here where I'll stay until I'm too old to remember why I was locked up."

Crossing her arms, the woman allowed just a small smile to form on her red lips. It didn't touch her eyes. "That's why we're here." She nodded at the bag. "Those should fit. We'll wait outside while you change. You can use the bag to carry any personal items you'd like to keep."

"Pardon?"

"That's it exactly. You're being pardoned." Jones waggled her hand. "In a manner of speaking."

When Rankin was ready to go, she left everything behind. None of it had any sort of value, sentimental or otherwise. On the outside, it could all be replaced and at a higher quality. Why should she keep anything that reminded her of being stuck in prison?.

~~O~~

Ten minutes later, the now former prisoner climbed into the back of a long black limousine idling at the curb. As it pulled onto the deserted street, Mr. Smith opened the mini-bar. "May I offer you some champagne, doctor?"

"What are we celebrating?"

Ms. Jones crossed her long slender legs and accepted a glass of the sparkling beverage. "You'll see. Our employers can be quite persuasive."

"Then I accept. The champagne, that is." She sipped from the glass, the bubbles tickling her nose. Jones offered her a snack that cost more than most people made in a week. She chewed while watching the scenery.

Before long, the ride was over. The driver handed both women out, Smith helping himself. Inside a non-descript building, the trio walked down a long corridor and into an office that was easily ten times the size of her cell. Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, a woman stared out at the lights of the city. She had elegantly styled black and gray hair, and wore clothing specifically tailored for her shape.

Smith cleared his throat and she turned around as if she hadn't known they were there. She seated herself in a butter soft leather armchair, gesturing for her guest to take the sofa. "Thank you for coming, Dr. Rankin."

"How could I refuse such a charming invitation?" Diane Rankin deadpanned. "What's this about?"

"We-my partners and I-have a proposition for you. If you accept, you'll be given everything you need to continue your research, and you'll never spend another night in prison."

Rankin thought it over and smiled, knowing it would appear avaricious. "When do I start?"

**The End**

**Songs**

"One Toke Over the Line" by Brewer and Shipley, released in April 1971.

"Help!" by The Beatles, released in 1965.

"Bridge over Troubled Water" by Simon and Garfunkel, released in 1970.

"Real Men Wear Kilts", written by Miller and Norris.

"Do Virgins Taste Better", words by Randy Farran, 2001.

"No Matter What Goes Right", written and performed by Trout Fishing in America.

"The Unicorn" is a song by Shel Silverstein, performed by The Irish Rovers in 1968.

"The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond", is a well-known traditional Scottish song first published in 1841.

"Sandy", by Louis St. Louis and Scot Simon for the musical _Grease_ and performed by John Travolta in 1978.

"Back When I Could Fly", written and performed by Trout Fishing in America.

"Lullaby", written and performed by Trout Fishing in America.

"Angel", by Sarah McLachlan released in 1997.


End file.
